Radiation Situation
by Gomro Morskopp
Summary: COMPLETE. Kim and Ron uncover a secret organisation and a menace from the past that threatens mayhem in the present. Warning: very dark,involves character death. But I'm told "Anything is possible for a Possible". Let's put that to the test.
1. Chapter 1:Prologue

Author's Foreword: Practically everything I write, goofy or grim, fanfiction or otherwise, has an underlying message, and this was no exception. When Japan suffered a real nuclear crisis, I began having problems with this story, feeling as if it now trivialized that event. Despite the advice of many in the Kimmunity, among them Codename Blue Eyes and SirSebastian, I withdrew it. However, after consideration, I have decided they were correct and I was too hasty. Certainly both Joseph Stefano and Inoshiro Honda created powerful stories using scifi symbols of this particular grim reality; I do not place myself in their league, but I recognize their freedom to tell the tale.

So here is _Radiation Situation_, in which Kim and several other characters, both good and evil, encounter a power which, even when apparently submissive, is never less than lethally dangerous and awaits only a crisis – an "act of God", if you will – to careen beyond control. The story won't suddenly disappear this time, and I apologize to all who gave it their time only to have it vanish incomplete. We must all learn our lessons; I learned one here.

Disclaimer: If you saw it on TV, even in 1963, then I don't own it. And with this chapter, at least, there is a chance of that.

* * *

**Prologue: April 26****th****, 2006**

Drakken had finally connected the last wire to the last clock; giddy with excitement, he somehow undulated his way out of the complex maze he'd built. "Behold! This device, _my own invention_, will finally rid the world of the accursed Kim Possible." He struck a victory pose that could have come out of a comic book. And probably did.

Lying under the tanning lights, Shego watched, seemingly without much interest. "I stole the clocks, the wires, even the big maypole whatchamacallit in the middle."

Annoyed, Drakken angrily defended the maypole. "_Chronoton cluster generator_, Shego!"

His sidekick continued, nonplussed. "I stole the Hobart equations from the museum vault. You _invented_ that thing about like a kid _invents_ an airplane with his Tinkertoys."

"That's not very nice," he snarled, testily.

"Wasn't meant to be. So, ok, I'll bite – what does it do?"

He cackled malignly, both hands in the air, held like claws. "With this device I can tilt time and bring back the dead as they were before they died."

"Did I ever tell you," asked the green-tinted beauty, languorously rolling over, "that I have a highly developed Shego-sense that _tingles_ in the presence of stupidity levels bordering on suicidal?"

His interest was piqued. "No, no, I don't believe you have."

"That's because, really, I don't. But if I _did_, I'd in the throes of a _grand mal seizure_ about now. Who, exactly, are you planning to bring back 'as they were before they died?'"

"I've thought about that long and hard," said the mad scientist, finally tracing the web of wires to its end and attaching an extension cord to the tangle. "It must be someone who can finish our enemies once and for all."

"Did I mention that the 'before they _died'_ stuff seems particularly goofy, even for you? Is that supposed to, I don't know, be _scary_ or something? "

He ignored her question. Sometimes he dreamed that she was impressed by his plans, really impressed, without a compliance chip pasted on her brow. Sometimes he dreamed that she helped him build things, even making improvements as they worked, without sarcasm, spite, or disdain. In those dreams he proudly stood beside her: emperor and empress, king and queen, even –

Sometimes he wondered, waking up in the wee hours of the morning, what dreams like that could mean.

He pressed on.

"And I have decided on no one less than..." He plugged the thing in; the clocks began ticking, hands spinning, as the wire web took on an eerie, iridescent glow. "Jack the Ripper."

Shego was up and in Drakken's face in under a second. "_Whoa – whoa – whoa! _Hold the_ phone!_ " With effort she collected her thoughts, continuing a bit more calmly. But only a bit. "Tell me why you thought _that_ was a good idea."

"Shego! Isn't it obvious? The name is _synonymous_ with evil. 'Jack the Ripper.' Brrr! His reputation has lasted over a century. Never caught. His identity a mystery to this day – but the time tilting device will find him. Think of the evil _tips_ he can give us. To learn at the feet of a master – "

The demoniac ticking of clocks filled the room, a cloud of noise, making it difficult to speak without shouting. "Have you considered, even for a _moment_, exactly what he _did_ to _get_ that reputation?"

"Of course! One more reason to summon him from the past. Our greatest enemy is Kim Possible – "

A quantum singularity, a rift in time began ominously spreading from the central pole of the device; through it could be seen, dimly, the streets and buildings of Victorian London. Over a hundred years away, a police whistle was blowing.

"– and Kim Possible is a _girl_. You see? You _see_? You thought I hadn't done the research."

Sometimes Dr. D's crazy schemes were more dangerous than Kim Possible could _ever_ be. Was he really that naïve? If Possible was a 'girl,' what did he think _she_ was? She glanced again at the temporal vortex, suddenly aware of the sweat trickling down her forehead. At any second a red-eyed, misogynistic maniac might spring from its hazy depths, knife held high. And the wild-eyed, blue-skinned maniac before her thought that would be an _advantage_.

He was still gloating, oblivious to her mounting concern. "Jack the Ripper will _annihilate_ her for us. It's in the bag, Shego. In the _bag_."

He grinned, the big crazy Drakken grin.

She didn't.

_The Ripper's no danger to me_, she told herself. She was an expert martial artist with a deadly power. She _knew_ that. But the time tilting device was opening a door to the past, and she was wearing nothing more than a bathing suit, and the Ripper's victims had all been – "Dr. D, he _doesn't_ 'annihilate' namby-pamby, do-gooder _teenagers!_ He _annihilates_ –"

"I'm ok with 'do-gooder', but 'namby-pamby?" came an all too familiar voice from overhead, on the catwalk. "I know you can do better than that."

"_Kim Possible_!"

Shego winced as he roared the name right in her ear.

"You've got nothing," continued the blue man. "I've done nothing wrong."

"Professor Stefano would beg to differ. He's still ticked over losing those rare magnetic wires."

"Yeah," shouted Ron Stoppable, still trying to extricate himself from the overhead airvent, "and Dr. Stevens was pretty wired about getting those atomic clocks back, too."

"Nice." The green woman's hands suddenly crackled with supercharged plasma. "How long did you rehearse _that_ routine?"

"What routine?" Kim spun down from the catwalk, somersaulting through the air; Shego slung a bolt of seething emerald energy that missed her adversary by a mile, exploding deep in the bowels of the time tilting device.

Horrified, Drakken screamed something that might have been "No."

Within the machine's confines, the era of Jack the Ripper blurred, faded, was replaced by ravening dinosaurs, a trio of sailing ships, an Apollo space capsule, an Old West ghost town. Beams of light flared from within the wires and clocks; electrical arcs stabbed the air. The vortex of chaotic time began expanding, spilling out of the ruptured containment field.

The redhaired teenager and the green brunette looked at each other, at the machine, and bolted to their respective partners. Probably the shortest fight they'd ever had.

"Come on, Dr. D," Shego shouted, "the plan's gone belly up. Let's get out of here."

"You did that on purpose," wailed the mad scientist, surrounded by the oily smoke of his quickly disintegrating creation. "You didn't even _try_ to hit her. You threw that into my time tilter on _purpose_! You were _jealous_! _Jealous of my success! _"

"Yeah, well, we'll discuss that some other time." She hustled him, kicking and flailing, into the hovercar. " When we're not in mortal danger." The little vehicle lifted off, spun around, shot down the tunnel to the secret exit. On the catwalk Possible and Stoppable were following suit, escaping the lab via the same ventilation duct that had granted them admittance. The scientists would have to do without their magnetic wires and atomic clocks. The devil was always in the details.

Flying south, Shego considered the silent man beside her, his arms crossed, face fixed in a pout, refusing to meet her gaze. Though she would never admit it, she _had_ been impressed by that machine. Someone with common sense and the power of time travel could do anything. Even take over the world.

Common sense. That was the problem.

Sometimes she dreamed that he was as competent as he was determined. Sometimes she dreamed that he was really as smart as he thought he was, really as logical as he wanted to be. In those dreams she proudly stood beside him as his feared enforcer, as loyal protector, as –

Sometimes she wondered, waking up in the wee hours of the morning, what dreams like that could mean.

The hovercar vanished in the clouds, leaving the self-destructing time tilter behind. At the same time two ultralight craft lifted off from the far side of the island, bearing the teen crimefighters to safety.

And so it was that no one saw the final moments of the time tilter's destruction. No one saw the glowing, burning figure leap from the quantum singularity vortex just before it imploded; no one saw the big man hit the floor, rolling until the flames were quenched, getting slowly to his feet.

One second he had been transfixed by the lethal fury of Reactor Number Four; the next the void had opened before him and he had jumped through it. Without hesitation, without fear. His Spetsnaz training had taken over. Now he had no idea where he was, but he knew what he must do: get back to the Soviet Union and report on the disaster.

Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev walked out of the ruined lab, out into the tropical island wilderness, not knowing that twenty years had passed for him in the twinkling of an eye. Many things had changed since that day at Chernobyl. It would be some time before Asafiev knew the extent of those changes. It would take even longer for him to accept them.

At the moment he was simply glad to be alive. "_Хіба це рука Бога_," he sighed. _Is this the hand of God?_

He walked into the forest. In his wake, lush plants and brilliant flowers sickened, withered and died.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: if you saw it on TV, it doesn't belong to me. Soundtrack for this chapter: King Crimson's album RED; Gosta Berlings Saga's GLUE WORKS.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: 4 YEARS LATER**

She nimbly dodged the final laser, flung a bolt of plasma at the weapon, blowing it off the wall. Without even a pause she spun in the air to meet the last of the ninja guards, right in front of the vault.

Two frantic, violent minutes later the man was sprawled unconscious on the floor; stepping past the body, she touched the complex electronic lock with a single finger limned in green light. Smiled wickedly, imagining the circuits frying, the chips blowing, the relays failing as the plasma current swept through them.

Confidently she turned the handle; the door hissed open. The treasure within was no bigger than a cell phone. She took it from its shelf, outwardly as steady as a stone, inwardly ecstatic with the thrill of the hunt. This was why she left Team Go. This was why she so enjoyed evil, cherished chaos. It made her feel alive like nothing else could.

Dr. D. had no idea where she was, of course; a lot had changed since the Lorwardian invasion. Drakken really had turned over a new leaf, content to putter around with recipes, home furnishings, and the occasional goofy science project. World wrecking and world conquering were out of the question. He was happy with his new life.

"See you in a couple of days," she'd cheerfully told him as she left in the autogyro that morning. He really thought she was on a business trip; really believed that she worked for Nakasumi Toys. For nearly three years she'd maintained that lie, and for nearly three years he'd accepted it. If he checked, she'd be on their payroll. Not that they knew it. She'd paid a hacker quite a bit to have that done.

Somewhere in her heart she knew he was simply pretending to believe; somewhere in his heart he knew she was not fooled by his pretense. It was an unspoken pact between them; the lie allowed them to stay together without questions.

Not that she had any world-shaking plans. She'd never really understood why all of that was necessary. Steal something very valuable and sell it to the highest bidder; simple, profitable, effective.

She marveled at the device's jewel-like perfection. So small, so seemingly harmless, and yet it would sell for far more than any nuclear or biological weapon. With the money it would bring in, she and Dr. D. could continue their idyllic life for several years to come, far from the rat race, on their personal tropical isle.

As she tucked the object into her leg pouch, a shadow fell across the floor; she spun around, already in battle mode, expecting more ninjas.

A single figure clad in grey stood in the doorway of the vault. Bald, dark eyed, the lines in his face making him look much older than he was.

Not a ninja. Something else.

He held out his hand. "Give me the wireless charger," he said, in a thick Slavic accent.

Green plasma crackled around both her hands. "You must not know who I am, Gramps."

"On the contrary, Sherri Gordon, I know exactly who you are. And I am Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev. The men I work for need that device very badly." His openly lascivious stare both angered and embarrassed her, something she wouldn't have thought possible. "You are very beautiful," he continued. "Why should a beautiful woman die for so small a thing? Hand it over and live."

She answered with plasma beams cast from both hands, a power sufficient to melt armorplate.

A foot from their unconcerned target the beams bent, deflected by some unseen force, and dissipated. She gasped, startled, and her adversary instantly seized the advantage, moving like lightning, delivering three murderous strikes in a split-second: throat, chest, solar plexus. Any of the three would have killed a normal human being, but Shego was more than human; she was flung back against the vault wall, bruised, momentarily dazed, but alive.

It was Asafiev's turn to be astonished.

With a ferocious growl she leaped into the air, kicked the man squarely in the face, spun as she landed and delivered another crushing kick, sending him flying across the vault floor. He stood up almost instantly, snarling something in another language. _Probably better off not knowing what he said_, Shego thought, and she was right.

He closed with her, grappled with her; her plasma blasts merely flickered and were quenched. That was fine. Whatever superscience had given the man a defense against her powers could not defeat her strength, her spirit, her martial arts prowess.

She was sure of that.

After all, she had battled the best and won. Destroyed Lorwardian war machines. Defeated numberless enemies. Only one foe had never fallen before her, and this Russian geezer was definitely no Kim Possible.

Yet every move she tried was blocked, every slash of her clawed gloves was dodged, every murderous technique countered with an equally lethal attack. Worse, something was happening to her, something she didn't understand. A creeping nausea, an aching weakness like nothing she'd ever experienced.

She suddenly, shockingly, _knew_ he was toying with her. He _wanted_ her to fight, to prolong this battle.

Even as that certainty shook her, he broke away, held a hand out as if warding her off, but his expression belied that; burning eyes above a cold, twisted grin. "I would have liked to watch you take it slowly, girl. But I am on a tight schedule. This will do."

There was no brilliant beam, no thunderous sound, no evidence of the devastating power that had been released in the vault beyond a barely visible green flickering. The woman crumpled to her knees, struggled to stand and failed. A sour taste filled her mouth; sweat beaded on her brow, drenched her shuddering body.

She could feel her organs blistering, burning deep within her.

Asafiev knelt down, pulled her to him, stroked her face, her hair. Bruised her lips with his. Ran his rough hands over her lissome form. "Ah, it has been so long since I have held a woman like you – if there was only a little more time." He cupped her face with his hands, stared into her eyes. "You are still defiant. Good. When you stand before God tonight, do not blame me for your circumstances. You could have walked away. This was all your choice."

He took the device from her leg pouch and was gone.

A few minutes later Global Justice agents poured into the hallway, ran down to the vault and stopped, aghast.

"My God," cried one of them. "Shego."

Another knelt beside the stricken, trembling woman, who had passed into unconsciousness, maybe comatose. "She's still alive. Barely. Get a stretcher in here."

In less than a month no less than six of them would be dead of radiation poisoning.

On an island far from that deadly vault, Drakken finally finished his latest project, stood back and surveyed it with pleasure. A beautiful cake with her favorite icing. No mushy inscription, though. She wouldn't want that.

He would prepare her favorite meal tonight as well. Everything needed to be perfect when she returned from that business trip. She had promised she'd be back right at noon, and he would have everything ready. He loved her so much; he could hardly wait to see her surprise.

It was her birthday, after all.

* * *

The Leader was dissatisfied. "The device must be decontaminated before we can use it. It may have to be destroyed and another built. Not difficult, since we have the original, but annoying. What happened out there?"

Asafiev was clad in a radiation suit; not to keep radiation out, but to protect those who had to be around him. "There was trouble this time. Shego was also after the charger."

"Shego?" said ancient Sergei Ivanov, once a member of the Supreme Soviet. "_The_ Shego?"

"No. Some _other_ Shego." Asafiev snorted with disgust. "How many do you know?"

Ivanov was neither amused nor intimidated. "Sarcasm does not become you, Qua-Czar."

He hated the codename they had given him, but held his peace. "I apologize, comrade. It was not my place to criticize you. Of course it was _the_ Shego. There could be no other. The briefing didn't begin to describe her. She was… incredible." A pause. "Her account with God is settled."

The Leader's eyes widened. "You saw that?"

"I didn't have to see it. I know how much the human body can withstand. She took quite a bit more than that."

"_You_ survived quite a bit more than that."

"Yes. I did. But as the comrades in the scientific division never tire of pointing out, I am no longer human."

"Neither is she. It was a comet in her case, as the briefing must have told you."

"A gift from Heaven. Drakken was a lucky man, to have known the love of a celestial being." He walked toward the door, impatient to get back to his quarters, to get the radiation suit off. The new recording of Messiaen's _Turangalila_ awaited. Music was one of the few pleasures he could still enjoy. "Maybe she _has_ survived. When we leave humans behind and begin to deal with angels and demons, all bets are off."

"Which are you, Qua-Czar?" the Leader asked, in his Midwest accent, so different from Asafiev's own.

"I am a servant of the Leader, the people, and the Soviet Union. Nothing less." He turned back to the men around the table. "And I am Andrei Asafiev, not Qua-Czar. Use that codename in your journals, in your clandestine meetings, in your secret conclaves, but do not call me that to my face. My name is all that is left me. Use it."

"One day, very soon, your country will be returned to you as well, Asafiev. You have done a great work here. We were fortunate that you survived, whatever the circumstances."

There was no answer. Instead the bulky figure stalked from the room.

"You know this will change everything," Ivanov told the others. "Whether he killed the woman or not. It will be much harder to continue our plans in secrecy. Other people will become involved. Drakken, for certain. Kim Possible. And her fiancé. His name escapes me."

"Ron Stoppable. I've had some experience with all of them," said the Leader, with a grim laugh. "By all means, let them come."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: if you saw it on TV, I don't own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _The Wild Bull/Silver Apples of the Moon _by Morton Subotnick; _Oblivion Days_ by Rocket Scientists; _The Beginning of Times_ by Amorphis.

* * *

The headline was simple and stark: _"Heroine or Terrorist?"_ Below it Shego wickedly smirked, hands blazing with emerald fire. Kim briefly wondered where they'd gotten that picture. She'd seen that expression countless times, up close and personal.

Inside there was a photo taken at the United Nations, just before Drakken received his medal and their pardon. After all, they'd saved the world. A very different woman in a formal dress smiled hesitantly from the photograph. _Almost demure_, thought Kim. _Never imagined that word would ever apply to Shego_.

Drakken was a blur in the background, gazing quizzically at his sidekick.

A year and a half later the former supervillains had walked down the aisle together as cameras flashed all around them. Life certainly had its surprises.

Neither Kim nor Ron had been there, despite a cordial invitation; they had been in Finland, trying to recover Easelsmear's priceless _Shirt, Tie and Handkerchief_ triptych from a band of art thieves that called themselves The Thirteen Questions. Of course the sitch had snowballed, and by the time it was over, the wedding was, too.

That had been the Lipskys' last newsworthy appearance. Until now.

As if on cue, her fiancé laid a hand on her shoulder. "What's up, KP?"

"Shego didn't do this. I don't know why she was there, but she didn't do _this_."

"Oh, come on." He looked down at the sneering photograph, his features suddenly hard. "It has Shego written all over it."

She was shocked. "This is _so_ not her style. Not even at her worst."

"Really. How about, oh, the L'il Diablo incident. Robots in the skies –

"Disguise?"

"- _the - skies_, screaming people in the streets."

"That was Drakken's idea. She wasn't in on the plan. I know. I tried to get it out of her. While you were off playing cards."

"That was an _accident_."

"Really? No one plays cards by _accident. _Not even_ you._"

"Snippage is _not_ appreciated."

"It's not a _word_, either."

"When I had my own little 'evil spree'," – air quotes –"_you_ didn't help me build Annihilators and Megaweather Generators. You tried to _stop_ me."

"That wasn't your fault. The Attitudinator –"

"Never mind that. You did the _right_ thing. But I _did_ have help." He tapped the picture. "She _totally_ knew I was planning on wrecking the world. And she joined me. Her only worry was whether or not I'd wreck her _with_ it."

"That was years ago. She could change." The front page photo jeered at Kim's words, her feelings. She voiced them anyway. "She _did _change. She didn't join the Lorwardians. Not even when they had the upper hand. She fought at _our_ side."

"At _Drakken's_ side. The guy she _married_, I might add. You know, _supervillain_ and all that."

"I'm not saying she would ever join Team Go again. She'll never be that tame. I'm saying she's left world-wrecking behind."

"You told me once that 'some people _never_ change.' You were talking about her when you said it." _Where was this conversation going? Did he want to be here when it reached its destination?_ "I think she did _exactly_ what they're accusing her of doing. Probably working for someone else, as usual. And it backfired on her."

"Ron!"

"No, I _mean_ it, KP. They're saying Drakken wasn't involved; big deal. It's not like she ever needed his permission. Remember when she helped Motor Ed steal the Kepler? Remember what he said at the trial?" He did a surprisingly accurate impression of the mad mechanic's coarse voice. " 'Hey, _she's_ the one who wanted to doom the world to _chaos_, man. I just wanted a sweet ride with a hot chick. _Seriously_.' "

"He needed someone to blame."

"'_Doom _the_ world _to_ chaos,_' Kim."

"He threw her under the _bus_, Ron."

"Ed wasn't interested in destruction. _She_ was. That's what she _likes_. Destruction. Chaos. What's more chaotic than a dirty bomb?"

She grabbed the paper, flipped to the inside photo, shoved it in Ron's face, furious. "Look. _That's not the same woman_." She threw it down on the table, pulled out the inner page, pointed from one image to the other. "Before and after. Before... and after!"

"Are you done?" The disgust in his voice was palpable. "Listen to me. _She tried to kill you._ More than once. Those three scars on your arm; she put those there. Don't take her side, when you know – "

Her big green eyes filled, brimmed over with tears. His anger was instantly quenched.

"KP, what's wrong?"

She struggled to control herself, choked out two words.

"I'm scared."

* * *

The Leader looked relieved. "The official story is that she's a terrorist, accidentally caught in her own nuclear booby-trap. There've been protesters at the hospital, demanding her death."

"They'll probably get their wish," replied Ivanov.

"At the _hospital_. What gets into people?"

Ivanov frowned. "Global Justice must know the wireless charger's gone. They're using her as a scapegoat while they look for the real culprit."

"Maybe. There are some pretty dull pencils writing for GJ."

"Qua-Czar thinks God may not be done with her yet." A grimace. "This God thing, it bothers me. There is no room for religion in our new order."

The Leader shrugged. "He's not religious. There's a big difference between believing in something and worshipping it."

Ivanov changed the subject. "If she lives, Leader, that could make things very precarious indeed."

"Despite Qua-Czar's thoughts, she's still flesh and blood. And flesh and blood can't survive what _he's_ become." He sighed. "I really hate this, Ivanov. She's a bit too _lippy_, but sharp as a tack. Invaluable in a pinch. To be honest, I had hoped we could recruit her to the cause."

"_And_ her husband?"

"Ah, well, if we _had_ to. He does make good cupcakes." A little smile. "Well, one must work with what one has. Despite this unexpected interference, everything is going according to plan."

Gregori Shchedrin, erstwhile Head of the Scientists' Union, cleared his throat. "Not – not exactly, Leader. We have been, uh, there have been some problems – "

"What? Spit it out. This is why your country fell apart in the first place. Indecisiveness." He gestured around the room. "The reason _I_ organized this group, the reason _I_ established this base, the reason I devised this _plan_ while you people were hiding in Belaviezhskaja Puscha trying to regroup is because I'm _focused_. Decisive. I look for open doors, and I walk through them."

"Yes, Leader."

"What's our motto, Shchedrin?"

The man repeated the words by rote. "A problem is just a misunderstood opportunity."

"You're in charge of the project. Act like it. _What's the problem_?"

"We cannot make the project work," he said, the evenness of his voice concealing his anger. "The theory is sound; the technology will not cooperate."

The Leader was less than sympathetic. "You told us the wireless charger was going to change all that."

"It helped. We're close."

"Close only counts in horseshoes. And hand grenades."

Sometimes the Leader's Americanisms baffled Shchedrin. "As you – er – have said. The charger's power should be sufficient. But the modifications, they are – " He struggled for the word.

"Yes?"

"Outside? No - _beyond_. They are beyond us."

"Suppose we added a new member to our think tank. Someone who once took over every satellite broadcast in the world – even private communication frequencies – with nothing more than a videocam and whatever tech she could pull out of a van's innards. Would it be _beyond_ someone who could do _that_?"

Shchedrin wasn't sure that he had understood correctly. "Impossible."

"What? No, she was one of Possible's _enemies_. Actually, she got the short end of the stick; her daredevil routine was no worse than most American television."

Ivanov interrupted him. "How do you know this woman could do this?"

"I keep track of anyone with a skill that might be useful. Always have. It's just good business. Anyway, Possible and her boyfriend revealed her as a phony, and she went off the deep end. Kidnapped somebody. Got really stupid about it."

"Where do we find her?"

"Ah, there, as Sophocles said, is the rub. She got an early parole and dropped off the radar. Gone. Pretty easy to get off the grid with that sort of talent." He sat down at a computer console, clicked an icon. "That's ok. I don't know where she is, but I know who can tell us." A man's face appeared on the screen. Haggard, unshaven. Life had not been kind to him. "This fellow was her cameraman. Paul LeRoyde."

"Cameraman?" Ivanov was unimpressed. "He probably hasn't seen the woman in years!"

"When she was fired, he left with her. He filmed her crime spree, such as it was, for worldwide broadcast. No one would go that far with someone unless they had something more than a job in common. I'm guessing he still knows where she is. "

Ivanov unemotionally scrutinized the picture. "And how do we get that information out of him?"

"Fear."

"Maybe he doesn't scare."

"Oh," said the Leader, reaching for the intercom button, "everyone is scared of _something_."

* * *

"Scared of _what_, hon?" Ron had never seen his fiancée crumble so completely. Not even during the L'il Diablo incident. She'd had a touch of doubt there, a moment of self-pity, but it had passed. No tears, no trouble. A few words from the Ronman and everything was fine.

Not this time. He set the cocoamoo on the table; she held the mug with both trembling hands, brought it to her lips.

"'That better?" he asked. At least she wasn't crying any more.

"Middleton General has the best radiation medicine specialists in the country. In the world. She couldn't get better care. But what – what if it isn't enough? What if she d – d -" The word wouldn't come.

"I – I don't know. She won't." An unwanted image appeared in his mind: the green woman, her blistered body racked with pain, hooked to life support machines, intravenous needles stuck in her arms. The beep of the heart monitor, counting her life away. "She can't."

"You said she tried to kill me. She did. Over and over. But I tried to kill her too." She looked up at Ron, silently asking him to understand. "I kicked her into that electrified signal tower and watched her scream in the current. I watched the thing _fall_ on her. And there was no remorse." Tears fell on the table, into her drink. "I was _glad_ to see her die. I was seventeen years old and I was glad I'd killed someone."

"It was a long time ago. It was years ago. And she _didn't_ die, Kim. You didn't kill _anyone_."

"_But I wanted to!_" She began to sob again; Ron tried vainly to console her. "That's not _right_. It's not _right_ to want to kill someone. Anyone. Even Shego. Am I crazy? This thing we do, these missions – are we both crazy?"

"Someone has to, Kim. Someone has to keep the world safe. That's what you do. What _we_ do."

"If she dies, I can't tell her I'm sorry. I never told her I was sorry. When Electronique reversed her morality, we were best friends for a while, and I still never told her I was sorry. Then it all went south. That's when I told you some people never change."

"Yes." He hoped she didn't remember that he was responsible for Shego's return to evil. It had been an accident, as usual. The Ron Factor could be a curse as well as a blessing.

If she remembered, it went unmentioned. "I was wrong. I have to be wrong. Because if she can change, maybe – maybe I can, too. Maybe some day I won't see it in my dreams any more. I see it every night. I have for years now. You don't know what it's like."

"Yes I do, Kim." He spoke softly, but the intensity of his emotions came through regardless. "Warhok and Warmonga. I killed them. I know exactly what it's like."

She reached out to him, her own tribulation erased by concern. It was her nature. "You _had_ to, Ron. You were the only person who could stop them. They would have destroyed the world."

"That wasn't why I did it."

"What?"

"I wasn't saving the world. I was saving _you_. You were unconscious. Shego was out cold, too. They were going to take you back to Lorwardia, _stuffed and mounted_. A _trophy_." He clenched his fist, the blue aura of mystical monkey power glowing faintly around him. Even the memory rekindled the rage of that moment. "I could have pinned them to the ground, knocked them out, temporarily paralyzed them. But I was afraid they'd hurt you if I let them live. So – so I didn't."

She was speechless.

* * *

In Middleton General Hospital, in the special shielded ward, the green girl stirred, sat up in the bed with a sharp intake of breath, eyes blazing. With a scream of raw defiance, she flung a bolt of green fire at an invisible foe, blasting a hole in the wall. Global Justice guards aimed their guns at their prisoner, not certain if they could stop her, but ready to try.

From the next room, two nurses peered in through the hole, their faces pale, their eyes wide.

Shego 's delirious gaze focused not on the GJ men or the nurses, but on something only she could see. Sweat ran down her forehead; the heart monitor bleeped crazily. "I'm not dead yet, you crazy Russian _bastard_."

Then she shuddered, groaned, and passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: if you saw it on TV, I don't own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Oblivion Days_ by Rocket Scientists.

* * *

The Leader's voice squawked from the specially designed, shielded intercom. "I have a mission for you, Qua-Czar. Try not to kill anyone this time."

Asafiev looked up morosely at the speaker/camera. "You say that as if you think I enjoy it."

"Your Spetsnaz records speak for themselves."

"Yes, I suppose they do." The radioactive man shut off the music. Penderecki's _Utrenja_. Maybe someday he would actually make it through the piece without interruption. There were so few pleasures left to him now. Shchedrin and his Union of Scientists had decided that the trip through time had saved him, the chronotonic particles somehow reacting with the lethal radiation he carried with him to make him something new and different. He no longer ate, he no longer slept, he no longer –

It didn't matter. He was nothing without a mission. It had been that way long before Chernobyl, long before now.

With a growl, he donned the special gloves, withdrew the CD, replaced it in its plastic case. Despite decreasing his output to the minimum, the gloves were a necessity.

"I was seventeen when I, shall we say, was initiated into that select group." He began to pull on the radiation suit; again, even at minimum power, there was always danger. Not to him, of course. "My target was an enemy of the people. A threat to the Soviet way of life." A cruel, knowing smile within the hood. "They all were. We only removed monsters. It was what we were trained to do."

"You'll excuse me," said the Leader, bitterly, "if I have my doubts."

"Doubt whatever you like. We all have our little lies we live with. They make life bearable."

"I've worked with Shego in the past."

"So you've said."

"She could have been an unsurpassed ally. Not only because she's superhuman. She has an incredibly sharp mind. Stealth skills second to none. All it would have taken was an impressive title, a promise of power in the new world order." He released the intercom button; under his breath he muttered "And a nice car."

"People change, Leader."

"You changed a possible asset into a definite liability. Poor business, Qua-Czar. Very poor business."

"I asked her to give me the charger. She wanted to fight instead. Not the act of an ally. So I took care of it. If a little too fervently, so much the better. God hates the tepid. He would rather have us cold or hot. I have never failed to complete a mission."

"You failed to kill Shego. As of an hour ago, she was still alive." He imagined the United States government had really wanted to keep that whole situation out of the public eye. After the defeat of the Lorwardians, Drakken and Shego had become nearly as revered and admired by the public as Ron and Kim Stoppable. Or were they married yet? He wasn't sure. It didn't matter. "At least that's the official story."

"My mission was to bring you the wireless charger. I did. Not to liquidate Shego. She was an obstacle, no more." The touch, the warmth, the feel of the woman came rushing back to him. He recalled the fire in those beautiful eyes. "Her overconfidence was her undoing. If she gets in the way again, the book of her life will be closed."

"Overconfidence. Undoing. Pot kettle black."

"_Pot kettle black_?" Asafiev was derisive. "There _is_ a difference, Leader. She _thought_ she couldn't be defeated. I can't be. She _thought_ she was indestructible. I am."

"They're calling her a terrorist."

"I know. They've also written me off as nuclear waste." He laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe they aren't far wrong."

"There is a man in America that I want you to visit. Shake him up. Scare him till he runs. I'm certain he'll run right to the person we need. In ninety minutes there'll be a briefing in Conference Centre Fourteen. You'll get more information then."

"What keeps him from running to the authorities?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something, Qua-Czar."

"You are determined to use that ridiculous name. Is this the sort of polite respect comrade should have for comrade? Stalin was a rude man. Lenin wanted him removed for that reason. "

"Stalin was one of your strongest leaders. Lenin didn't get his wish."

"I am not Lenin. I am Asafiev."

"You don't respect me, do you? You wish the Leader was a Russian like yourself."

"Did you know that in the 9th century my ancestors submitted themselves to Viking rule?"

"No. I can't say that I did."

"Our people were undisciplined. Rebellious. In disarray. We recognized that the Vikings would use their strength and power to rein in those qualities. Make us a unified force, a people to be reckoned with. They founded Kievan Rus'. It stood for centuries."

"Fascinating," said the Leader, suppressing a yawn.

"My people are again in disarray. It sickens me to see what we have become. There is no authority, no strength, no law. No nation. Ivanov, Shchedrin, the others respect you. They were men of authority under the old rule, but they could not restore the Union. I believe in your plan. I believe it will reestablish what we had, stronger than ever before. I would rather it had been the plan of a man of my country. But a Viking will have to do."

The Leader's hearty laugh was distorted by the speaker. "I'm no Viking, Asafiev. Just a businessman who saw a great opportunity and dared seize it."

"But we understand each other?"

"Oh, absolutely. We understand each other."

* * *

The blue man had no idea where he was. Global Justice had bases everywhere, some above ground, some underground, some in the ocean, some in orbit around the earth. He didn't know how long he had been in this place; one minute he was outside his island home, wondering what was keeping Shego, and the next he was plummeting down a tube that had opened without warning beneath his feet.

Then there had been darkness, and murmurings, and trouble. A great deal of trouble. More than he had ever had during his supervillain days. The agent assigned to his interrogation was the worst kind of GJ man; obsessed with rules and regulations, determined to make a name for himself, dedicated to getting information from his prisoner.

But Drakken had no information to give. Something the GJ agent seemed unable to accept.

"Tell me what you want to hear," he cried, struggling against the straps that held him fast. "Tell me what you want to hear, and I'll say it."

"That's no answer, Lipsky." Coldly, Will Du watched him writhe. The official story had been that Drakken wasn't under suspicion. That sort of thing was often necessary in this line of work. Sometimes the public was happier with a lie. "That's no help at all. Where's the wireless charger?"

"Wireless charger, wireless charger. That song's getting old."

"Maybe a little more shock therapy will freshen it for you." He indicated the GJ man at the controls of the electroshock device. It could tingle, it could paralyze, it could torment. It might even kill a person, given the right conditions. Another acceptable risk in defending the world from terror.

"I don't even know what a wireless charger is."

Du's disgust showed on his face. "OK, we'll play that game again. Only the most dangerous invention of the age. Just the kind of thing you'd send her to steal."

"We don't do that any more." Despite his situation, an angry edge crept into his voice. "You GJ goons are behind the times. We saved the world. Maybe you heard about it." He glared at his tormentor. "While GJ was hiding under the covers, we were fighting the invaders. Kim Possible and that buffoon fiancé of hers were right beside us. _Kids_. The whole world was falling apart and we didn't see a _bit_ of help from you Global Justice sons of –"

His rant was cut off in a scream. Du motioned to his cohort, who returned the voltage dial to zero.

"We can do this all day long. Or you can come clean. Where's the charger? Shego didn't have it, so she must have gotten to you somehow."

"If you hurt her, you'll wish you hadn't."

"Oh, that's right, you haven't been _told_." Du's snide tone silenced the scientist. "Your dirty bomb must have detonated prematurely." He took vicious pleasure in this revelation. Good men had died in that catastrophe; Drakken should feel some of that pain. "Your wife was caught in the blast."

The expression on the blue man's face was perfect. Exactly what he deserved.

"We're trying to bring her through it," he continued. "Then she can join you here, until we get that charger back."

"You – you're _what_?" He twisted so violently in his restraints that Du involuntarily stepped backward, startled. "She doesn't _need_ your help. She can heal on a submolecular level _if you leave her alone_!"

"Then you need to tell me what I need to know. Fast."

"I can't tell you what I don't know. Please. Please tell them to leave her alone. Your treatments will _prevent_ – "

"'allo!" A cleaning woman, short, heavy-set and disheveled, blundered into the room, a huge mop in hand. "Zomeone ist a cleanup in aisle zeven needing?"

Something about the voice was both familiar and annoying to Drakken.

"What th-?" Du spun around, furious at the interruption. "Who let you in here? Get out!"

"Oh, that I will be doing," chortled the cleaning woman, pointing the mop at the GJ agents like a rifle. There was a blinding flash.

When Drakken could see again, the cleaning woman was working at his bonds. Behind them stood the GJ agents, motionless as statues. "A freeze ray. Not an ice ray. I vish it vas my invention, but it ist not. From a fellow mad scientist I have borrowed it, just for this occasion."

He peered at the face beneath the wig. "D – Dementor?"

"Well, it ist not Shirley Temple!" he bellowed.

"You broke in here...to save me?"

The small, stocky man laughed. "Don't yourself be flattering! I said I am doing der vorking with another man of science. A new plan ve have. Together ve are going to even set der Evil League of Evil on their collective heads. I really did not know you vere here! But vhen I zaw you there, und realized vhat they vere doing – ve have never been close, you and I, but you have zomething I vill never have."

The last of the straps and cables were loose; Drakken stood up unsteadily.

"You have a voman who loves you," Dementor continued. "Und you love her. All that mushy stuff. Because of that, ve still have a vorld for der taking over. You are all about der good guy stuff now. Ach! These GJ schlemiels vouldn't know a good guy if he saved the vorld right under their nose. Go, then. _Schnell_! Und maybe next time ve shall make vith all der rival scientist hoop and la."

The blue man bolted for the door. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Und I _mean_ that. A reputation I have for keeping up!"

But Drakken was already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _2__nd__ Hands_ and _Close Grip_ by The Gourishankar; _Koyaanisqatsi_ by Philip Glass; _Ricochet_ by Tangerine Dream.

* * *

Paul LeRoyde woke suddenly from an already fitful sleep, imagining a face, hands, at the bedroom door, dimly illumined in the darkness. He blinked, rubbed his bleary eyes, sure he was seeing things.

The phantasm spoke, its voice guttural, heavily accented. "Ah, you're awake. Now we can begin."

He rolled over, grabbed the pistol from the nightstand. "I have a g-gun –"

"Yes. So you do." The glowing hand went to the wall switch. "Let us continue our conversation in the light." His visitor was a man in greyish-black, an aging parody of a ninja.

"Stay where you are. How'd you get past the dog?"

"The dog. A fine creature; he did as he was trained to do." The man stepped into the room, seemingly unafraid of the pistol in LeRoyde's shaking hand. "They have no soul, you know. God has dealt them a sorry hand, don't you think? It is terrible to die defending your home and master and have no reward at the finish."

LeRoyde swallowed hard. "I – I don't know what you're talking about –"

"I'm talking about the _dog_!" the stranger snapped. "But leave it. I need to speak to someone you know." He produced a photo from a belt pouch, held it up. "Adrena Lynn."

LeRoyde started , involuntarily, and hated himself for it.

"Is this the part where you tell me you don't know her?"

"Of course I know her. I was her chief cameraman, years ago. We were faking extreme stunts on TV. Kim Possible busted us. Adrena went a little overboard. Got freaky. I haven't seen her since."

"Neither has anyone else." The man walked to the large aquarium, LeRoyde's hobby and passion. Ran a hand across the glass.

"Don't touch that."

"We all have our fishbowls, don't we? A man who had, shall we say an _infatuation_ with a teenage daredevil, underage, you see, he could find himself in quite the fishbowl at the end of the day." A pause. "Hypothetically, you understand. He might not be able to ever let go. And when she got older –"

He tapped the glass, his back to LeRoyde. The fish scattered.

"I'm not kidding, I'll shoot. Leave that alone."

"Are you familiar," said the intruder, still watching the fish, "with the woman Shego? Her situation, as it were?"

"Terrorism." LeRoyde was puzzled. "A dirty bomb –"

"Not a bomb. I am responsible for that. She is dying because she defied our Leader's wishes." He faced LeRoyde, arms outstretched as if crucified. "Now go ahead and shoot. Empty your gun. Then we will continue our talk. Or put the pistol back on the nightstand and let us reason together. Your choice." He stepped toward the man in the bed. "We are far beyond firearms now, Paul LeRoyde."

The gun fell, clattered on the floor. Words poured from LeRoyde's lips, a verbal avalanche: "I'm not lying. I don't know where she is. I haven't seen her since we went to prison, honestly. She might still be in jail. She might be miles from here. She might be –"

"Shut up. I need information, not drivel."

"I don't have any. I – I can't _get_ any."

"She was your friend once, yes? You should look her up, get reacquainted." He was all smiles, his voice cheery. "We let our old friendships get away. And then we meet again, one day, at the funeral home. One friend looking down at another. Why wait for that to happen?" He was at the doorway. "Think about it, Paul. Make a decision. We will see each other again, very soon. Count on it."

He was gone. LeRoyde sat there, terrified, mind racing. It was a full half hour before he got out of bed. Glanced at the aquarium. Cried out.

The fish were floating belly up. Still twitching, expending what little was left of their life.

Just down the road from LeRoyde's tiny house, a van was parked; inside it two men monitored sensitive electronic equipment. A block away, a larger truck received Andrei Asafiev, its rear compartment sealed and lead-lined. The radioactive man clicked a switch, spoke in his native tongue: "It's done. The Leader thinks he'll run to the woman. I think he'll run to the authorities."

Some time later the driver responded, also in Russian. "He's phoned her. They've got the signal." Ten minutes passed; the driver spoke again. "No one answered the call. He's pulling out of his driveway now. Unbelievable. The Leader should be pleased." The vehicle's engine rumbled to life. "If he goes to her, you lose the bet."

"Such is life." He'd killed some fish. And he was genuinely sorry about the dog.

The trip had almost been a waste of his time.

Almost.

The man called Qua-Czar shrugged. "You can't win them all."

* * *

"I'm Kim Possible - I can do _anything,_" she muttered, but her mantra wasn't working. International relations theory and Diplomacy 101 usually held her attention, but the incident at Middleton General Hospital that morning invaded her thoughts, interrupting her efforts at study.

Finally she brought kxkvi-dot-org up on her Netpad, clicked the video. The one she'd come back to a dozen times since it had intruded on her studies that morning, breaking into the television program she had on in the background, just for the noise. Gregg Greatman's face filled the screen, his pompous voice intoning an intro she was certain he had written himself.

"I'm Gregg Greatman, whom you voted most popular newscaster in Middleton, Colorado, bringing you the most dramatic developments in Middleton news as their drama develops…"

Greatman might be the viewers' favorite, but she could read him like a book. He reminded her of the temp Drakken once hired, back in the bad old days; the one who turned the Ray-X projector on the Tweebs just to score a few points with the boss. His name had, not surprisingly, faded from memory; Henry or Harlan or some such thing. But his character remained clearly in her mind: egotistic, selfish, completely amoral. The same spirit she sensed in Greatman.

Greatman, though, was just a TV personality. Not a wanna-be supervillain.

"This afternoon the ongoing saga of the suspected terrorist Sherri "Shego" Lipsky took a fearsome turn as –"

The footage was probably from someone's cell phone. Drakken's oval hovercar descended, vines lashed out, wrapping around the surprised GJ guards, sending them flying through the air. A second later the wall collapsed; the same vines that had just shown such lethal fury gently brought the unconscious woman from the room. The hovercar whirled into the sky, was lost in the clouds.

Under a minute of action. So many questions to answer.

Drakken's botanical mutation had run its course a few weeks after the alien invasion, not long after the unintentional embrace at the UN that made the cover of _Humans_ magazine: _Are Villains Turned Heroes Now Lovers?_ The photo caught them surprised, maybe even shocked, but also willing to accept this. To see where it led.

Obviously Drakken had taken another mutagen bath, restoring his powers. Was he only rescuing his wife from GJ's clutches, or was this the beginning of another world-threatening plot?

Was Ron right? Did Drakken and Shego really have a hand in the radiation blast that had taken half a dozen lives? Why had it taken him so long to retrieve her?

And what _was_ post-colonialism, anyway? She'd just read that definition minutes before. With a sigh, she closed the books. Keeping her 4.0 GPA was proving more difficult than defeating Drakken had ever been; if he was up to his old tricks, could she afford to take him on?

She was startled by the Kimmunicator's bleeping. Grabbing it, she blurted a hasty greeting: "Sitch, Wade?"

"I don't know if it matters," he began, "but I've finally found out what Shego was after when the bomb went off." Kim frowned; he hastily amended his statement. "Er – or whatever caused the radiation blast. They've really had that one locked up; took a lot of digging. And I don't have the time to dig like I used to."

"That happens with growing up. And discovering girls." The young man on the screen flushed and spluttered. _Right on target_, Kim thought. _I guess he thought I didn't know about him and Joss._ No need for Cupid rays this time. She was glad they'd hit it off.

"Um, that is, anyway, about Shego –"

"Right. Shego." She laughed. "Spill. What was she after?"

"A prototype. Only one like it in the world. It's called a wireless charger."

"What? What on earth –"

* * *

"—_Is _a wireless charger?" asked Drakken. The lair was surrounded by radar bafflers and invisibility screens; with GJ looking for them, stealth was essential. "I heard a lot about it during my Global Justice stay. Agent Du was _fascinated_ with the thing. But he never quite got around to telling me what it was."

Shego wasn't paying attention. "Even the scar on my palm is gone," she said, almost in awe, holding up her left hand. "I was seven. Trying to cut a golf ball open."

He already knew the story, but simply nodded. Sometimes, he'd learned, she just needed to talk.

"Mervyn told me there was a diamond in the centre." Nothing but rubber bands. And suddenly there was blood. Her brother tried to squelch her screaming: _Be quiet. It's just a scratch_. _Don't tell Dad. I'll get a bandage. Don't tell Dad_.

But Dad was already coming toward the garage. Her brother was too scared to move; she had stepped out in front of him, keeping her bleeding hand behind her back, repeating the same words over and over as her father grimly approached: _Nothing's wrong, Daddy, nothing's wrong, Daddy, nothing's wrong -_

Then he'd seen the golf ball, and the blade, and the blood.

He told her to stand in the corner and punished Mervyn first. _No son of mine could be that stupid_, Dad said, swinging the belt. _You got her cut. Couldn't you see that coming? No son of mine could be that dumb_.

Mervyn howled louder with every blow.

Then he'd let her have it too. _That's one of my golf balls, girl. You stole it. That's one of my razor blades. A thief is always a liar and a liar is always a thief, Sherri. Thief._ The belt rose and fell. '_Nothing's wrong, Daddy,'_ he jeered. _A lie. Thief. Liar. _He hit her again._ My daughter the thief._

She refused to cry for him. Clenched her fists, closed her eyes. Blood still dripped from the unbandaged cut. Mom stood on the porch, watching. The twins were too young to care; Hershel wisely stayed away.

Just another day at the Gordon house.

Now the scar was gone. She wished the memories had gone with it.

Drakken gently took her hand in his. Their eyes met. "Your body's undergone complete cellular regeneration."

"Count on you to have just the right words for the moment," she deadpanned.

He disregarded the sarcasm, just happy to have her back. Her superhuman ability to heal was astonishing, but any outside interference could reset it, like a computer constantly rebooting itself. At the end of the L'il Diablo debacle, she'd completely recovered from crushing trauma, multiple compound fractures and third-degree electrical burns in under ten minutes. By the time the authorities turned up, she had only a few scratches and some frazzled hair.

It had taken six hours of uninterrupted rest to shake off the effects of the radiation poisoning _and_ the damage done by well-meaning doctors at Global Justice's insistence. _Six hours. _If she'd stayed in that hospital another few days, she might have never recovered. "Every cell in your body must have been contaminated."

"The Russian enjoyed it." She remembered the way the man touched her as she lay sick and struggling on the floor, and the smoldering rage within her became a furious fire. "Said something about God. Then he took the wireless charger and left."

"Ah. The wireless charger."

"I found out about it by accident."

"No doubt", he said, dryly, "someone at Nakasumi Toys had one."

"Actually Santa Claus told me. He got the info from the Easter Bunny." She flopped down in a chair, propped her feet up on the desk. "So we can drop that routine. You never believed it anyway."

"It made things easier. _Wireless charger_."

"It got invented by mistake. You know, like, uh, like your Volcanic Eruptavator. Not exactly what you were shooting for."

"That could have happened to anybody. And it _did_ make good rock candy."

"Yeah, it did. About a hundred thousand dollars a pound good, if I remember correctly."

"Costs a lot to _generate volcanoes_," he testily growled.

"Which it _didn't_ do. Anyway, so there was this lady inventor –"

* * *

"Her name was Alexis Graeme. A southern belle. From Nashville, I think. Somewhere down _south_."

"Does this story have an ending, Wade? I've got a date with post-colonialism."

"Her invention automatically homed in on cell phones, locked on, and recharged them. Wirelessly. Miracle of the modern age."

"That's no big. Nikola Tesla broadcast power back in the 1890s."

Wade was astonished. "You – you know about Tesla?" The Croatian scientist was one of his idols.

"Dad's an astrophysicist, Mom's a neurosurgeon, the Tweebs are physics geniuses. Maybe even _your_ equals." Wade looked dubious. Kim continued. "And I'm a sponge. Picked up a lot by osmosis."

She smiled, thinking about her childhood. Her Dad, absent-minded sometimes, a little over-protective, maybe, but always her hero. She remembered, even after all these years, her first day at pre-K; her father had allayed all her fears with a wink. _Anything is possible for a Possible,_ he'd told her, and she'd faced the rest of her life with that empowering phrase at her core_. _

Her mother, her confidant, her friend. Not everyone could say that about their Mom.

Nana Possible. Uncle Slim. Cousin Joss.

And even if Jim and Tim had sometimes annoyed her, they were still the best.

Through good times and bad, they had all stayed together. A family. And then, of course, there was Ron. Who could have dreamed where that relationship would one day end? From pre-K on they'd been best friends, through all the ever-crazier missions, until the L'il Diablo incident and the school prom had taken their feelings to the next level.

Some people had considered him simply the rebound boy, intercepting her after her disastrous fling with Eric.

Some people had been completely wrong. She recalled watching _The Little Mermaid_ with Ron, only a week after the prom, after the dance, the kiss. By the end of that film she knew she'd found the man she wanted to spend her life with. Even if he had dissed her favorite movie.

She was so glad for those memories. They kept her sane in a crazy world. A world of supervillains, evil plots and dark mysteries.

"Kim...are you _zoning_ on me?"

A world of wireless chargers. "And this charger had a range of what? A hundred yards? A mile?"

"Anywhere on the planet."

It was Kim's turn to be astonished. "You're joking."

"No, I'm serious. Dead serious. Here's some footage I uncovered. First and only test of Alexis Graeme's wireless cell phone charger."

Even on the tiny screen the gigantic arc was blinding. "That's, um, that's pretty _scary_." She felt shell-shocked just watching it.

"It _did_ charge her cell phone. They found it in the ashes, unscathed."

"That was Dr. Graeme?"

"Operative word, _was_. As someone once said, dangerous devices should not be left lying around when their devisers are gone. So the Government walled it up with all the other doomsday machines they've confiscated over the years. Shego was trying to steal it when– when she got hurt."

"It's still missing?"

Wade nodded. "And now we've got Shego _and_ Super-Drakken on the loose again. With it. Who knows where _that's_ gonna lead."

_Probably not to the Dean's list_, Kim thought. _I can forget post-colonialism tonight._


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Skyforger_ by Amorphis / _That's What's Up_ by Consider the Source/various symphonic works of John Duffy. All hail shuffle play!

* * *

Kim lay awake in the darkness, her thoughts racing. Shego, Drakken, the wireless charger, the dirty bomb, Global Justice – all these things were only the shadow of something huge and malevolent, she was certain. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, and at any minute the ground might give way and send her tumbling.

And then there was the college problem. By constantly switching majors, she was becoming a "perpetual student," as Monique had pointed out the last time they got together. In her mind, the conversation replayed itself:

"_Girlfriend, where on earth is your focus? You need to S.B. and F.Y.C."_

_Monique-speak was laden with acronyms, few of them immediately clear. "Translation, please?"_

"_Step back and find your center. Or you're gonna be in college forever."_

She had rarely struggled with indecision before. But there was so much to learn. So much to know. And it was all here for the taking. When she left college, who knew what might happen? But right now there was open opportunity.

Or was it something else entirely?

* * *

"So, the way I see it," Drakken mused, "we stay here and wait this mess out. We've got plenty of supplies, we're off the grid, hidden from visual and electronic spies, and the lair has its own generator. Sooner or later someone will catch this Russian loony, whoever he is, and exonerate both of – what are you doing?"

"Going hunting." She pulled on her clawed gloves; green flame rose up from her hands. All systems go. "You can stay here till your petals wilt, if you want. I'm not about to hole up like a scared rabbit." She extinguished her plasma flames, turned to leave. "I owe the son of a –"

He grabbed her arm to stop her. "Think what you're doing!"

She immediately turned on him, rage in her emerald eyes. "You're half a second from losing that hand. I'm not kidding, Drew – let go."

"No." Hardly believing his own actions, the blue man tightened his grip; powerful vines unfurled from his body, wrapped themselves like snakes around her wrists, her waist. "You _can't_ go after him."

She struggled like a trapped animal. "Yes... I... can." Her words were cold, measured, furious. "You can't _stop_ me."

"Global Justice will find him _and_ the wireless charger."

"_Sure_ they will," she snarled. "If he walks into their _headquarters_ with it!"

"You are absolutely _hell-bent_ on this – this _vendetta_, aren't you?"

With a frightening growl she flexed her muscles, snapped the vines, pushed him away from her, disgusted. Plasma crackled around her clenched fists, angry tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks. "Don't you touch me. I _mean_ it." She stormed out the door.

Drakken hustled to catch up. The walk through the lair was a study in tense silence. At the hovercar hangar he finally spoke. "I'm coming with you."

"No you aren't." She wouldn't look at him. "Go wait it out."

"I want _you_ to wait it out. Where it's safe."

"No such thing as 'safe.' And we look guilty if we hide."

"Should at least get lead-lined suits."

"Too clumsy. He's a martial artist, too."

_Great. We're hunting for a radioactive ninja killer. Just wonderful._ "And the plan? I assume there _is_ one. Or are we just going to climb a tree somewhere and wait for him to saunter by?"

"Ooh, rapier wit. I'm devastated." She favored him with a brief, high-intensity glare. "You really need to leave the wisecracks to me."

"_What_ wisecrack?" He was confused. "The ambush-tree maneuver _always_ works in the movies."

She ran the vehicle through a quick systems check. "Yes. There's a plan."

He clambered into the hovercar, shifted nervously around in the seat, expecting to get thrown from the vehicle at any moment. "Does it involve Geiger counters? Because we don't have any."

"No Geiger counters. Something else. Something you might have helped with, if you hadn't been so busy radiation-proofing the lair." She stared straight ahead as the hovercar lifted off. "I got someone else's help. A _real_ scientist. You know, someone who _invents_ things instead of _stealing_ them." A pause. "Sending _someone else_ to steal them. God, what was I _thinking_ when I –"

"Shego," he began, and then called her by her real name, the name he alone was privileged to use. "Sherri, I'm – I'm _sorry_ about that. Back there. When I, you know, when I grabbed you – look, I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk to you right now," she said, and just kept talking. "Don't _ever_ do that again. Whatever we have together, that's a real good way to – to lose it." Her voice almost broke; they traveled over a mile in uncomfortable silence. "Why did you do that? What made you have to _do_ that?"

"I – I was – concerned." _ I'm scared to death, Sherri. I'm afraid you'll find that monster. Afraid he's more than you can handle. Afraid of the sympathetic mortician, the kind words from old friends, the stone with your name on it. That's why I held you back. That's why I'm coming with you. _ He tried to tell her his reasons, but the words refused to come. Instead he stammered "I – aah, urh – that is, I _am_ concerned. About you," he finished, feeling idiotic.

"I can take care of myself." _Haven't you learned that by now, Drew? I'm not a china doll waiting to be knocked off the shelf. I don't need the kind of protection your mother lavished on you. I didn't get it as a child and I don't want it as an adult. I won't be guarded, chaperoned, pinned down. The butterflies pinned down in museums stay beautiful forever. But they're dead._ "I _know_ you're concerned. I _appreciate_ your concern. But when you act like that, you remind me of –"

She stopped, realizing she was about to compare him to her Dad, knowing where that would end. They'd been there before on occasion.

He remained silent, realizing she was about to compare him to her father, knowing where that would end. They'd been there before on occasion. A headache had begun to pulse in his temples, and he knew there was no aspirin in the hovercar. He'd forgotten to buy more when they ran out.

It was so hard to remember all the trivial little things that life demanded.

Shego groaned and clicked open the dash compartment, scrabbled vainly for something to ease her sudden headache. Of course there wasn't anything. No use expecting Drew to buy some ibuprofen; she'd be dead before he remembered something like that.

Something important.

As they traveled, he sneaked a glance at her, sitting motionless and silent beside him, her expression inscrutable. Wished he could find the words to tell her why he'd tried such a stupid, desperate thing. It was so hard, sometimes, to open up to Drew Theodore P. Lipsky's real feelings. So much easier to hide them beneath the veneer of devious, diabolical Dr. Drakken.

Expertly piloting the vehicle, she sneaked a glance at him, sitting motionless and silent beside her, his expression inscrutable. Wondered if she could ever tell him that, deep down, she understood why he'd tried such a stupid, desperate thing. It was so hard, sometimes, to give in to Sherri Nicole Gordon- Lipsky's real feelings. So much easier to hide them beneath the facade of cynical, sarcastic Shego.

_Maybe love_, they thought, neither looking at the other, _always leads people to do stupid things. Maybe that's why it's so dangerous. Volatile_.

_Fragile._

They flew on through the grey, leaden skies, the two of them so completely different, so very much alike. A storm was brewing.

* * *

Ron was ready for marriage, ready to take their relationship to the next level.

And she was too, she thought.

As soon as she got her degree.

But she kept changing majors as if she didn't really want to get a degree at all.

Ron had never said it out loud, but she knew he thought it. Adult life and a job promotion had given his youthful childishness a mordantly logical edge. Maybe it had always been there; after all, his brief career as a villain had revealed astonishing competence and logical deduction.

It might have been the actuary in him.

It was magnified by his studies at Yamanouchi. While she was learning about peace and conflict resolution between nations, he was learning to better control the power which had shattered the Lorwardian stranglehold on Earth. That discipline had changed him. He had purpose and direction now, no longer randomly caroming through life. The master of Mystical Monkey Power was possibly the most dangerous, formidable man alive.

Beside her, the most dangerous, formidable man alive snored loudly, mumbled, fell back into deeper slumber. The student handbook was quite vague about visitors; she'd read the annoying article in the college paper about "weekend love nests," but they were adults and they were breaking no rules.

At least no hard-and-fast ones.

* * *

The woman called June Summer stretched, yawned, clicked the remote. Five hundred channels and nothing fit to watch. Rex was out of town for the weekend; another business trip. He hadn't even called her since he'd left; the only call she'd had was from some unknown number, and she didn't answer those.

So the doorbell came as a complete surprise. She walked to the door with the poise of a born athlete, wondering who it was at this hour of the night. _Maybe it's Rex, back early. Playing games_._ Wouldn't that be wonderful_.

So she opened the door with a smile and found herself facing a stranger. A moment later she realized who he was. She hadn't seen him in years.

The realization didn't put her at ease.

"Paul -?"

"Adrena, we have to talk." She had been tomboyishly cute when she was younger. Now she was beautiful. Her hairstyle had changed, as had its colour: long, dark, almost black. She wore glasses as well, though he doubted that she needed them. More disguise. "I think you're in danger."

The words didn't register. She stood there, her stomach churning, pulse racing. Wishing this chapter of her past had stayed closed and forgotten. "How'd – how'd you find me?"

"Look, don't freak out, all right? It's not like I'm a – a _stalker_ or something."

"Yes it is! It's _exactly_ like that!" She struggled to control herself. "You're not _supposed_ to know where I am. What'd you do, hunt me down with Google Earth?"

"Not exactly. I've, aah, kept tabs on you."

She wasn't sure whether she was angry or afraid. A little of both. "Since when?"

"A while. A long time." Rain ran down his brow like drops of sweat, drizzled from his nose, his chin. "I – I haven't done anything wrong. I just – just wanted to be sure you were ok. Just watching after you. At a distance. Till now."

"Oh, jeez." She put her hand to her brow; her head was pounding.

"Can I come in? I'm getting soaked." A thunderclap punctuated his request.

"No. Go back home. I don't want to talk to you, Paul. There's no place for you in my life." There was nothing left of the feelings she'd had for him then, the misplaced affection of a young woman for a father figure. And he had taken advantage of those feelings. Just thinking about it repulsed her. "It was all a long time ago."

"Didn't you hear me? You're in _danger_. There's a crazy Russian on the loose."

She laughed in spite of herself. "_What_?"

He winced as if she'd slapped him. "He's looking for you. It's not funny. Please, let me come in, Adrena."

"June. I'm June now." She'd completely erased her old identity, built this new one from scratch. That was child's play to someone with the gift she had, the same technological savvy she'd used to take over the entire world-wide satellite network, all those years ago. Even super-secret Federal computers can be hacked if the hacker is wily enough.

She could have made a fortune with that skill. She didn't want to. She liked being able to fix people's computers, to heal their broken iPods, to restore youth to their antique VHS players just long enough to digitize that dance recital tape.

If anyone ever realized the extent of her ability, she'd end up a commodity on a Government shelf.

She'd known that when she signed the contract with Sidney Studios. A daredevil routine on TV. Reality show. Except there was very little real about it. It didn't matter; it had briefly made her famous. Given her a paycheck. And best of all, absolutely no one would ever suspect that the greatest technological mind of the age belonged to a brash, egotistic teen daredevil.

She would be safe from all the trouble that gift could bring.

"Yeah. June. I knew that," Paul said, and immediately wished he hadn't. "_June_, this guy could be anywhere. He's a lunatic. You should have heard him. Talking about friends and funeral homes. Killed my dog, my fish. Told me he wanted to see you. Wouldn't believe me when I told him I didn't know where you were. I tried to call, to warn you, but you wouldn't answer the phone."

So Paul had been the unknown caller.

"He glowed in the dark, uh, June."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It means he_ glowed _in the_ dark_! That's not _natural_!"

As Paul rambled on, in the rain and the wind, she realized that he wasn't making this up; there was no doubt in her mind that this Russian, whoever he was, was real. Paul was terrified. Scared beyond reason. And suddenly she realized what was happening. "_Stop_. Stop _talking_. You tried to call me about this guy –"

"Yeah. Yeah. You didn't answer. I had to warn you. _Had_ to. He's crazy, Adr—June. _Dangerous _crazy, dig? So I –"

"You came here," she whispered, infected with his fear. "Oh God. You came here."

He still didn't understand. Not until the frighteningly familiar voice came from the shadows.

"You are in no danger, Adrena," said the big man, smiling crookedly. "We need your help. Why make this difficult? Come with us."

"I… don't think so." Adrena Lynn blinked, certain her eyes were playing tricks on her. Not so. The man's face and hands _did_ glow in the darkness between the lightning flashes.

"This place reminds me of the forests of Novosibirsk Oblast," he continued, genially. " Your nearest neighbors are two kilometers away. An urban area would have made more trouble." He stepped forward.

"Run," barked Paul, drawing a pistol. The raindrops froze in the muzzle flashes.

She backed up, into the house, slammed the door. Turned to see four men in black waiting for her. They must have come in the back way while she was talking to Paul.

Adrena Lynn was no Kim Possible, but she was in excellent shape, and not all of her tricks as an extreme daredevil had been faked. She was ready to fight.

Outside, Qua-Czar had Paul LeRoyde by the throat, holding him high in the air. "I'm glad you finally used that gun. You should never draw a gun unless you intend to use it." The hapless cameraman went hurtling through the air, crashed hard against the door of the house. Looked up into the smiling Russian's merciless eyes as his barely visible aura became an ugly, coruscating radiance. "I said that we were far beyond firearms now, Paul. But I told you we would meet again soon, and so we have. Have you ever heard the old aphorism about omelets and eggs?"

_Adrena_, Paul thought, writhing in the hard radiation_, I'm sorry. So sorry. And I'll never get to tell you_.

The radioactive thing reached for him, laughing.

Inside, two men were down, groaning. Adrena nimbly dodged another, kicked him hard in the solar plexus, spun to face the fourth, only to get a faceful of some sort of spray. The world whirled around her; she crumpled to the floor.

"These Americans," he said, watching his comrades get slowly to their feet, "must always have their drama. And what were you thinking, fighting her? What if you had accidentally killed her? How would the Leader take that?"

There was no answer.

"That would be a good way to volunteer for Dukhonin's staff." He lowered his voice. "Comrade Qua-Czar would be more than happy to help you apply for the position." General Nikolai Dukhonin had been lynched in 1917; the grim allusion was not wasted on the three men. "The gas always works. Get her out to the van."

They went as they had come, carrying the unconscious woman out the back way. The sounds coming from the front of the house troubled even the hardened ex-Spetsnaz men. They were loyal to the Leader, certain that they would build a new world order under his authority, confident of his plan.

But they all wished Andrei Asafiev was not part of that plan.

* * *

Watching Ron sleep, his chest rising and falling, Kim felt the tension inside her melt away. All that power at his fingertips. And yet he could be so tender, so loving. She recalled their first time, after graduation, after the beach party. They had waited a long time, longer than most. And it had been worth it.

He made her feel like she was the only woman on the planet.

His newfound maturity had enhanced that.

A smile unexpectedly found its way to her lips. She rolled over, touched him, gently awakened him.

Sometime later the familiar four-note beep resounded in the dark room.

"Hon," Ron murmured, "the Kimmunicator –"

"I love you," she whispered. Put her finger to his lips, kissed him. She needed this. They needed this. For once, the world's problems were going to have to wait.

The device continued beeping at intervals. It was quite a while before she answered it.

"What's up?" she asked Wade with a giggle, amused by some secret joke.

"Drakken's on the move. That's what's up. I traced the energy signature of his hovercar to somewhere in the Dry Tortugas. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're – _I'm_ fine."

"You didn't answer the Kimmunicator. I've been calling for a half hour." The young genius looked both irritated and concerned, a strange mix of emotions playing across his features. "Usually that means there's trouble."

"There's no trouble. Sitch me."

"Well, yeah, maybe there _is_ trouble." He nervously squirmed in his chair. "I, uh, I thought for sure something was wrong –"

Ron was looking out the window, his face illuminated by flashing lights. "KP, the police are pulling up outside. Now what?"

On the little screen, Wade continued, apologetically, " – so I called in the law. Sorry, Kim. I'm really sorry. It's just – you _always_ answer the Kimmunicator. Always."

Kim put her hand to her forehead; she'd never had a headache come on so quickly. The annoying love-nest articles in the college paper were about to become a _lot more_ annoying.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Nostradamus (Book of Prophecies)_ and _The Martian Chronicles_ by Solaris; _Dracula,_ score by John Williams, _Rubycon_ by Tangerine Dream, _Oxygene 7-13_ by Jean Michel Jarre.

* * *

The Dry Tortugas are seventy miles west of Key West; the brick behemoth Fort Jefferson looms large on Garden Key, begun in the late 1800s and never finished. The islands themselves change with the tide and the weather, unstable as the waves that surround them. Inaccessible save by boat or seaplane, they still see close to 80,000 visitors a year.

Some of the islands are no more than history now, completely submerged by the inexorable ocean. The Sloth flew toward the coordinates of one of those lost islands, the former Northeast Key. According to Wade, Drakken's hovercar had disappeared somewhere in that area.

As they approached their destination, Kim spoke up. "We drove into the ocean once _without_ underwater capability, remember?"

"Sure do. Chasing Shego and SSJ. Still remember that weird-looking fish."

"It probably thought we were pretty weird-looking too."

They laughed together, recalling the moment. Strange how even the worst disasters seem funny in retrospect. Ron leaned out, surveying the roiling waters. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Is Wade sure of those coordinates?"

"You know we don't question Wade." The comment was only half in jest. "Drakken's built invisible lairs before. On the ocean, too." Kim flipped a switch; sophisticated sensors in the vehicle went into operation, designed to detect the wavelength of invisibility fields. A moment later the results came back negative. She sighed. "Okay, so we go under. Ready?"

"Man, I hate this part." His voice had the slightest quaver. "Don't like having all that ocean on top of us. If something goes wrong –"

"Nothing's going to go wrong. The Tweebs have outdone themselves on this." Kim activated the Sloth's aquatic configuration; the little vehicle dived toward the foreboding sea. "You haven't been figuring the _odds_ again, have you?" In their senior year he'd nearly scared himself out of crimefighting by doing exactly that. She'd ended up with Wade as a mission partner, and they'd both barely avoided a bath in boiling chocolate ganache.

Ron had finally conquered his fears, come to their rescue. The same calculations that had scared him into staying behind had proven a lethal psychological weapon, demoralizing Drakken's unusually effective henchmen, leaving the blue man and his harlequin sidekick without support.

She remembered seeing that _temp_ again, in an immaculate business suit, standing behind Drakken and Shego, taking notes as she and Wade dangled over the vat. Wondered, as she had many times before, if he had anything to do with the increased competence and confidence of Drakken's minions. His name still escaped her, but he had been clever, calculating, and amoral in a way that very few of her foes had been.

She sincerely hoped they'd seen the last of him.

"No," Ron replied, nervously eying the approaching waves, "I haven't been figuring the odds. Just watching the History Channel."

"_History _Channel? Sounds pretty harmless."

"Ever heard of the _U.S.S._ _Thresher_?"

The Sloth plummeted beneath the waves.

* * *

Slowly Adrena Lynn came back to consciousness, her head spinning, nausea lurking in her guts; whatever they'd used on her didn't let go easily. She tried to get up, found herself in restraints. Just like in the movies.

Cue the struggling.

Watching her, a nearby guard spoke, quietly and without emotion, into an intercom. In a foreign tongue. A moment later there was an answer; the guard shrugged, responded with a single word, and left the room.

This was the sort of thing that would happen to Kim Possible. Not her.

A moment later a man entered, a smile on his goateed face. "Adrena Lynn! Good to see you." He was thirty-ish, handsome in a nerdy sort of way. Exuding confidence. "Or do you prefer June?"

"Where's Paul?"

"The cameraman? He's fine. Fine."

"He didn't look fine. He looked scared to death. Your fluorescent flunky had him terrorized."

"Funny you should call Comrade Qua-Czar my flunky."

"You look like a boss."

"Oh, I am. But flunky is so demoralizing a term. We are all comrades here." He produced a clicker, pushed the button. She was free. "Adrena, I'm the Leader of this organization. My friends call me Hank." He offered her his hand.

She didn't accept it. Backed warily, tensely away. "What do your _enemies_ call you?"

"Oh, come _on_ now. Let's not start off on the wrong foot."

"_Wrong foot_? I've been gassed and kidnapped. _Freaky_ way of making friends." She couldn't believe she'd said that. After her parole she'd made it a point to stop saying the F word. Usually it only slipped out when she was really angry.

Or really frightened.

"That couldn't be helped," said the Leader. "You brought it on yourself. Qua-Czar says he made it clear you were in no danger, but you wanted to fight. One of my men got a broken rib out of that altercation. "

"That couldn't be helped," she echoed, sarcastically. "He brought it on himself."

"You've been working out since your disappearance. Maybe some ninja night school?"

"Knowing a little hapkido never hurt anyone," she answered, not completely accurately. She wondered if she could overpower this strange man, make a break for it. Decided against it. With no idea of where she was or how many men he might call to his assistance, freedom would have to wait. "What happened to Paul?"

"My, we're certainly worried about our _stalker,_" the man said, dryly. "We knocked LeRoyde out, mindwiped him, sent him back home. He won't remember any of this. Won't remember your location, either." He flashed a dazzling smile, straight out of Dale Carnegie. "See, we did you a favor. We don't want to hurt you, or anyone else. We just need your help."

"I don't believe you. I want to talk to him."

He laughed. "Well, that will take a little while to arrange. And it will completely undo the effects of the mindwipe. Wouldn't you rather just leave him alone?" His voice dropped conspiratorially. "Wasn't that what you wanted _him_ to do? Just leave you alone? Now he will."

She didn't answer.

* * *

The crevasse they'd discovered in the ocean floor had been suspiciously symmetrical; after an hour of travel through the depths, the brilliant lights of the Sloth revealed some sort of construction ahead in the murky waters.

A submarine bay. And beyond that, the harsh lights and metallic buildings of an underground lair.

"Jackpot!" Kim cried.

Jaw clenched, eyes fixed in a thousand-yard stare, Ron gave no response.

She reached out, touched his shoulder, gently shook him. "Hey! Are – are you all right?" Despite his initial misgivings, he'd been handling the underwater jaunt pretty well until they encountered the giant squid. Since then, she realized, he hadn't said a word.

He finally found his voice. "Remind me" – the words squeaked like a rusty hinge; he swallowed and tried again – "remind me to have the History Channel permanently blocked when we get back. Discovery Channel too. And SyFy for good measure."

"Why even own a TV, then?"

"Well, there's always Disney. You know, light entertainment."

She didn't comment. That was one channel she could do without.

They brought the Sloth to a halt beneath a moored cargo barge, swam out. Surveyed the area, quickly made their way to the roof of a nearby warehouse, trying to get the big picture. Again Kim was impressed with her fiancé's progress since he'd begun studying in earnest at Yamanouchi. Just a few years ago he would have flopped and fumbled around, endangering them both, barely able to make the climb; now he leaped up the walls alongside her, strong, skilled, and agile. Her equal.

_Her equal._ The realization opened a yawning pit in her stomach. Just for a moment. Then it was gone, leaving only a troubling memory behind.

"KP! Are _you_ all right? You look _shell-shocked_."

"Huh? I'm – I'm fine. Just overwhelmed."

"Yeah." The installation stretched for miles, apparently following the contours of an immense natural cavern. "This is big."

"You have no idea," she murmured, under her breath. Her eyes were suddenly misty; she choked back a lump in the throat. A lot of things were coming clear, but she didn't like the picture they presented.

She touched his hand. "I – I –" The words wouldn't come. She'd told him so many times, and yet now, when it seemed so important, the simple words eluded her.

"You _sure_ you're ok?" So much concern in his voice, his eyes.

She shut off her feelings. It was a necessary talent in her line of work. "Yes. Fine." They'd come back to this later. They'd have to.

Below them, a regiment of workers marched into place, began unloading crates of supplies from one of the barges. Synchronized. Methodical. No unnecessary motion, not a second wasted.

"They're a fine-tooled machine," whispered Ron. "You don't often see that sort of discipline among the lower classes of flunkies."

"Not since Hank's Gourmet Cupcakes."

"So you think Drakken _is_ behind this."

Watching the henchmen, she didn't reply. Maybe a slight nod.

"Man. I wasn't surprised when Shego showed _her_ true colours, but I really thought Drakken had changed." They made their way silently across the roofs of the buildings, away from the workers. Not sure what they were looking for.

Not ready for what they would find.

* * *

"Walk with me," said the Leader. Having little choice, Adrena Lynn followed him into the antiseptic white hallway. "We brought you here because of your past achievements."

"You brought me here because I faked some stunts?"

"No, not _that_. That was _nothing_. You took over world-wide communication systems with a Sony videocam and whatever you could pull out of a van radio. "

She was trying to memorize the turns and twists of the halls. "CD player," she replied, without thinking.

"CD player. That's astonishing, Adrena. I believe you even broke into the famous Kimmunicator's top-secret frequency."

She was still proud of that.

"Sheer genius." The Leader kept walking. "That's something no one else in the world could do." He put his hand on a scanner, looked into a lens. "That's why we sent Qua-Czar to scare LeRoyde. We had to find you, and I thought he might know where you were. He did."

A door slid open in the seamless white wall. The crew within stopped working, turned as one to look at her. One was obviously supervising the project; the Leader led her to him. "Meet Comrade Gregori Shchedrin, head of the Scientists' Union."

"A - Adrena Lynn," the man stammered. "I never thought you would come."

"Of course she came, Comrade," said the Leader. To Adrena, he chattily announced "Comrade Shchedrin keeps telling me he has a _problem." _ The man's face darkened; unperturbed, the Leader continued. "I keep telling _him_ that a problem is nothing but a misunderstood opportunity, but he refuses to accept the wisdom of that simple motivational statement."

But Adrena Lynn wasn't listening. She was fascinated by the thing they were calibrating there, the thing of precision clockwork and taut wires shimmering with mysterious energies. The ticking of the clocks formed strange rhythmic patterns; the luminescent wires flickered in time with those constantly changing syncopations.

Watching her, the Leader smiled. His gambit had paid off. That Masters in psychology was worth its weight in gold.

"What is it?" she asked Gregori Shchedrin.

"It is a chronoton attenuator." He spoke to her as an equal, dropping the Leader's phony jocularity. "A time machine."

* * *

Puzzled, Ron walked around the hovercar. Turned up on its side, it blended in well with the chemical tanks around it. There was an obviously new device haphazardly strapped onto its dash. "Why would Drakken hide his vehicle? Why not just park it with the others?"

"Because this _isn't his lair_." Kim indicated the strange device, its built-in compass and radar screen. "They tracked it down, just like we did."

"So where are they? And whose lair is it?"

"No idea. And no idea."

"Maybe we could ask those guys in the doorway."

Those guys in the doorway, however, were obviously spoiling for a fight. Kim assumed a battle stance, her considerable strength enhanced by the battlesuit she wore; Ron's ch'i cast blue highlights throughout the massive room.

Unafraid, the guards moved in to attack.

* * *

Having left Adrena Lynn with Shchedrin, the Leader walked down another hall, whistling. In the Conference Chamber he joined Ivanov and the others. "Comrades, the woman will be working for us before she realizes it. The device has absolutely captivated her. She couldn't take her eyes off it."

"We've also been watching something, Comrade Perkins," said the wizened Ivanov. A massive monitor screen revealed a dozen of their best guards engaged in heated battle with Team Possible. "More intruders. Just as I predicted."

A guard hurtled past the camera; another crashed against the far wall, both defeated by the young man. Across the room, two of them swung at the woman; a moment later they were sprawled on the floor, and she was ready for the next wave.

The Leader was disinterested. "So? Deal with them. It's simple enough, Ivanov. You people make everything complicated." He whipped out a communicator. "Tomasek? Seal off Level Six in hydroponics and flood it with knockout gas. Send in some men to fish out our catch." The communicator snapped shut; the Leader favored the ex-Soviets with a glare. "Was that so difficult?"

"But our men –" began Comrade Khrennikoff.

"They'll come to with a headache. Occupational hazard. The knockout gas will be a _lot_ less painful than the beating they were taking." He turned back to the screen, watched as the fighters began collapsing to the floor, got Tomasek on the communicator again. "Get the guards' names and numbers, too. Dock their pay for any time they spend unconscious beyond the usual fifteen-minute break."

The redhaired woman was the last to fall, struggling against the gas to the very last. That was no surprise to the Leader.

"Do we exterminate them?" asked Ivanov, obviously hoping for an affirmative.

"No. Throw them in with the other two. I'll make them an offer. The New World Order could use the four of them."

"That's absurd. You know they won't accept it."

The Leader shrugged. "Then they can discuss the matter with Qua-Czar. Perhaps he can _convert_ them."

* * *

Slowly Kim floated back to consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, she looked up into harsh fluorescents, closed her eyes again in pain. Her head was pounding. It seemed like all she did was get headaches these days.

A familiar female voice broke the silence. "Welcome back to the land of the living, princess."

Immediately she awoke. Surprised that she still had her Battlesuit.

About ten feet away, Shego watched the redhead with sardonic mirth. As a child she'd learned to take nothing too seriously. A person could go crazy doing that.

"Where's Prince Not-so-charming?" asked Shego.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"I'll bet you don't." The woman reached out, tapped thin air with her gloved and clawed finger; there was a deep thrum of power and a violet ripple emanated from around her fingertip, like waves from a pebble cast into a pond. "Force field. Unbreakable."

"We'll see." Kim gingerly stepped forward, right arm outstretched; a thrum and a purple flash revealed a similar field. With confidence, she triggered her own force bubble, expanded it.

Electrical arcs crackled where the fields touched each other, but the invisible prison remained inviolate.

"Forget it, princess," Shego commented, laconically. "Their field generators have a lot more power than your suit. While you were getting your beauty sleep, I was trying my own tricks on it." She flung a bolt of plasma; the purple energy flared, swallowed it up. "No dice."

Kim's force bubble vanished. "They've got the wireless charger, right? Probably running the whole base with it. No huge power drain on the grid to trace."

"Whoa! Kimmie's been going to night school." Her expression changed, became serious. "Whadda you know about wireless chargers? That's pretty hush-hush."

"I know GJ thought you and Drakken had it."

"And what do _you_ think?"

"I think I need to find Ron."

Beyond Shego, Dr. Drakken's tendrils and vines lashed vainly against his own invisible cell. He'd obviously been at it for a while. "Isn't _anything_ possible for a _Possible_?" the blue man suddenly shouted. "So get us out of here, Miss All That."

"I can't." She reached out, touched the field. Her eyes narrowed. "Not _yet_."

Drakken growled, retracted his vines, sat down and sulked in defeat. "Force fields don't just build themselves. Someone's got some clever people on the payroll." Even the petals around his head seemed a bit droopy.

"So now what?"

The redhaired woman watched the door to their holding bay, determination in her eyes. "We wait."

"For what?"

"Whatever comes through that door."

* * *

"So, Adrena," said the Leader, flanked by Comrades Ivanov and Khrennikoff. "How about my time tilting device? Can you make it work?"

The ominous, radiation-suited figure of Qua-Czar stood in the doorway behind them.

"I told you, I want to see Paul first. I want to know he's safe."

Shchedrin shook his head, barely concealing his panic, and tried to intervene. "Now, Comrade Lynn, this is not the time to make demands –"

"No. This is the perfect time to make demands." The Leader smiled no longer. "I'm afraid we can't get in touch with LeRoyde. But there is a man we _can_ get in touch with. I believe his name is Rex Implery. You two have been quite an item lately, yes?"

She gasped. The Leader regained his smile. People were so predictable. So easy to manipulate.

"Right. So, here we are. I have a machine that needs to work. You have the talent to make it work. But if you won't, well, I'll have to send someone to talk to Rex about that. I think I know just the person, Adrena. I think I know someone who would love to talk to that man about his beautiful, stubborn woman."

"Why create a problem for yourself, girl?" rumbled the radioactive man. "Do as the Leader asks. It will make things so much easier. You cannot know the blessings of the kingdom until you put the kingdom first. God is on our side."

She laughed nervously, derisively. "I doubt that."

"Doubt what you like. Acts of the Apostles, chapter four, verses thirty-two through thirty-five. Read them with an open mind. God's people are Socialists. By divine decree. And if God be for us, who can be against us? Do as the Leader asks."

Ivanov shook his head; Khrennikoff scowled. "Be that as it may," Ivanov began, waggling a thin finger at Adrena Lynn, "I'm sure Comrade Qua-Czar will be happy to discuss his religious practices with your friend Rex. Make the machine work, and we can forgo that unpleasantness."

"Do it," Shchedrin whispered to the woman. "Tell them yes."

A moment later the Leader left the room, his entourage in tow. Behind him, Adrena Lynn and Gregori Shchedrin were going over the schematics discovered when Qua-Czar led them back to the ruined lab where he had appeared.

Schematics for the machine that had both saved Andrei Asafiev and remade him in the image of holocaust.

They had no idea who had built the original machine or what had destroyed it, but soon their own improved version would be ready to tilt time and change history. Not only to restore the Soviet Union, but to insure its power dominated the globe.

Ivanov and Khrennikoff had other business to attend to; the Leader turned to his lethal ally, the true origin of their plan. Without him, there would have been no time tilting device to use. "You'll find Stoppable in cell block five." His tone hardened. "Do _not_ hurt him. I don't want him hurt. I don't want him _dead_. Do you _understand_ me?"

"Of course, Leader. I simply want to talk to him. I appreciate this opportunity." A pause. "Do we kidnap the woman's friend Rex?"

"Not yet. If we must." He glared at the radiation-suited figure. "You make things difficult, Qua-Czar. I asked you to leave LeRoyde alive."

"He was a loose end."

_And you're a loose cannon_, he thought. "I'll decide who's a loose end and who is part of the shoestring." The analogy was clumsy, but he let it pass. "Stoppable is part of the shoestring."

"Of course he is, Leader."

"I do not want this shoestring broken."

"By your leave, then, Comrade."

"I want to be able to tie my shoes when you're finished."

"Yes, Leader." A sigh.

"When you're done, have him taken to cell block seventeen, with his friends. I'll speak to them all there, together."

"As you wish."

He watched the man walk down the hall, his mind racing. Asafiev was becoming a liability. Yet he was an essential element of the plan; without his participation, they would never succeed.

And, after all, there was nothing they could do about it. He was truly indestructible. Like it or not, Qua-Czar was a part of their lives.

The bulky figure reached the door, left the building. Hank Perkins, the Leader, stood in the hall, stroking his goatee, alone with his thoughts. There was so much in life that even college couldn't prepare one for.

A moment later he turned and walked toward cell block seventeen.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _You Make Me Real_ by Brandt-Brauer-Frick; _Caves (Jeskyne)_ by Uz Jsme Doma_._ All hail shuffle play!

* * *

"How'd you find this place?" Shego was pacing her invisible cell, a caged panther tensed to escape.

"Tracked your hovercar's energy signature." Kim was also investigating the forcefield, touching it here and there, noting the ever-so-slight dimming of the lights every time she did so. An idea was beginning to develop. "After that, it was guesswork."

"_Why'd_ you find this place? You gonna shadow us the rest of our lives?"

The question took her off guard. "I – I – Drakken broke into the hospital, stole you from GJ. Did a lot of damage in the process. Your own record isn't looking too good, with that dirty bomb –"

"You thought we might be back in the world domination business."

"Yeah." She was ashamed to admit it.

"They framed me. Whether you believe me or not, that's true."

"Well, you're obviously not friends with the landlord." _Whoever he may be._

"On the nose, cupcake. I owe these people something. Remember Cyrus Bortel?"

She nodded.

"He built a tracking device for me."

So she'd been right about the thing in the hovercar. "_Bortel_ built it? It must have cost you a fortune."

"Before he agreed to the commission, he asked me if I was still in the Billionaire's Club."

"Are you?"

Her answer was a shrug, a frown. "It's to a Geiger counter what an atomic clock is to a sundial. Homes in on the weird residual radiation Comrade Neon-noodle leaves behind."

"Whoa. You lost me."

"The man responsible for that so-called 'dirty bomb.' He's here, somewhere. He set me up. Left me for dead. And I've got something for him." She tapped her leg pouch. "They didn't even search us before they threw us in here. Guess they figured we weren't getting out."

"So payback's the sitch. Again."

"It's all that counts." She gestured toward her husband, who was lost in his own morose thoughts. "He _could_ have built these things for me, but he was too busy hiding from the _bad guys_."

"Not in front of _her_, Shego!" Drakken spluttered in anger. "We've already been over this. A dozen times. I was –"

"_Concerned_ about me," she sarcastically simpered. "Yeah, I _know_."

Unexpectedly, Drakken stood his ground, yelled back at her through the invisible screen. "I don't think you do. _I don't think you know at all!"_

In shocked silence, Kim watched the nascent argument become a full-blown shouting match, lurching from subject to subject without reason or pattern. In moments the original insult had been lost beneath layers of complaints, annoyances, hints and allegations.

"By the way," jeered the green woman, "_Dementor_ did mutagenic plants a _long_ time before you did!"

This had to stop. Kim tried to change the subject. "Speaking of Dementor, we caught him and some other mad scientist trying to break into –"

"_Dementor did mutagenic plants a long time before you did,"_ mocked the blue man. Unconsciously, he'd generated a dozen vines, each poised like snakes about to strike. "So what? Do you think I care? Mine _worked_." The vines lashed in rage.

"Dementor's a _real_ scientist. So is Bortel."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones –"

"Not just a _thief_. A thief by _proxy_."

"My plants brought down the whole mecha army –"

"I was there, remember? So you tore up some robots. Big deal. If you're always so _concerned_ about my _safety_, where were you when Warhok _blindsided_ me?"

"That's not _fair_, Shego. I was still—"

"You know who bailed me and Kimmie out?"

Kim shook her head, her eyes silently begging Shego to stop.

The green woman pretended not to see her, remorselessly continued her verbal onslaught. "_The buffoon_."

Drakken grimaced. "Nice. Thanks for the support, _Sherri_. Thanks for the _encouragement_."

"Any time, _Drewbie_. You're even afraid of Stoppable's _rodent_. No wonder the mutagen made you a pansy."

"It's a _giant hogweed_, not a pansy," spat the scientist. "_Heracleum mantegazziani_. I know what kind of plant I started with!"

"So do I. A _pansy_."

Something inside Kim snapped. "_Stop_! Just _stop_. Listen to yourselves. You sound like _children_. We're _trapped_ in here. We don't know who's _behind_ this, or what they might be _planning_. We don't know what they've done with _Ron_." Every word was louder, crashing toward a crescendo. "And you're _screaming_ at each other about _what kind of flower that is! _Is _that_ what you call a _marriage_?"

Drakken wasn't sure he'd heard that right. "Is that – _what_?"

She was unable to meet their gaze. Her breathing was fast and shallow, her fists clenched so hard the knuckles were white. "I'm – I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" The green woman glanced worriedly at her husband. He shook his head, a baffled expression on his face; this was light-years out of his league.

"Sorry. That's so none of my business. I'm – I'm worried. About Ron." She looked up and her eyes met Shego's; the older woman was surprised by the distress she saw there. "I'm worried about Ron," she repeated, and Shego knew that was true. Not because of the current situation. Something else entirely.

"Aah…is she all right?" whispered Drakken. "This would be a really bad time to crack up."

Shego ignored him. "Princess…Dr. D. and I are, uh, a special case." _Oh God_, she thought, _I'm in some sort of twisted Afterschool Special, giving life advice to Kim Possible. Like a big sister or something. Like her mother. _"That is, you can't judge every marriage by our example. Think of your parents. Mr. and Mrs. Dr. P. Or your boyfriend's folks. They, uh, they don't, uh, act like us." _I'm rambling._ _Dealing with her was so much easier when I could just knock her out. _ "I guess…I guess we _like_ it this way," she said, and the words were a revelation. "I guess it's… how we get along."

"It's just the way we are," added the blue man. "You know, sort of, uh, aah, creepy. And cooky. Mysterious and –"

"Let's drop that right now," Shego hastily interjected, "before the finger-snapping starts."

"I'm just saying," he muttered, and wished he hadn't. It made him sound like Possible's buffoon boyfriend.

Where _was_ the buffoon, anyway?

* * *

Ron had assumed the lotus position, head bowed, eyes closed, clearing his mind before assaulting the forcefield that imprisoned him. During the Lorwardian invasion, his mystical Monkey Power had amplified his strength, increased his endurance and resilience, overcome gravity. With the subtleties Sensei had taught him in his months at Yamanouchi, even this invisible barrier could be broken. It was a simple matter of bringing his thoughts to a single, searing, concentrated focus before he struck.

That was the problem.

The focus wouldn't come.

Instead, a thousand questions demanded answers. _Where was Kim? Who had captured her? What were they planning to do?_ The very things his escape would prevent were preventing his escape. "Man, I hate irony," he mumbled to himself, not for the first time.

_And how many times was she going to change majors, anyway? When were they going to get on with their lives?_

Behind closed eyes, concerns. Worries. Fears.

"Meditation," said a gravelly, unfamiliar voice. "A valuable discipline for the soldier."

He opened his eyes. On the other side of the forcefield stood a man in a radiation suit. "I am Andrei Dmitriyevich Asafiev," said the stranger. "And you, of course, are the legendary Ronald Stoppable, one of the saviors of the earth. The Leader sent me to retrieve you. But first, we must talk."

"Where's Kim? Redheaded girl. She was with me when you –"

"She is unharmed. You will join her very shortly, along with our other prisoners. This secret installation is suddenly not so secret anymore."

"What's with the suit?" A trace of panic crept into his voice. "Is there a leak?"

"No. No leaks." The man chuckled. "It's for your protection, not mine. I am radioactive. Even at my lowest output, there is danger. Hence the suit. Without it, there is inevitably contamination."

Disbelief and then dark realization dawned in Ron's eyes. "The wireless charger."

"Very good. Yes, I stole it. On the Leader's orders."

"You killed those people."

"Everyone dies. It is nothing. Even I must die someday, though the Scientists' Union claims my halflife is in the thousands of years. The sun may well fail before Asafiev does."

"I blamed Shego for it." _Kim was right_, he thought. _And I argued with her about it._ "I thought – I thought she was a terrorist."

"Oh, she _tried_ to steal it. Don't browbeat yourself. She is no hero. She fought me for it, and lost. I have vowed before God that should she come before me again as an enemy, it will be the last time. But she is part of the reason I wanted to speak to you here, without the others."

"Let's talk, then."

"I received my powers at the hand of God. The incident that should have killed me did not. A way of escape was provided. Shego, too, survived a cataclysmic event and gained her powers as a result. This was nothing less than Providence."

"O-kay…" Ron wondered where this was going. Nowhere good, he was sure. He seemed to have a talent for finding such conversations. Probably an unwanted side effect of the Ron Factor. Someday, maybe, they'd invent a cure for that. If he lived long enough.

"She is an anarchist at heart," continued the Russian. "Wantonly destructive. I was a Spetsnaz assassin before the incident. You would consider both of us evil, I'm sure, but the hand of God was with us. How do you explain that?"

He had no answer. Ron was beginning to wish he had never made the acquaintance of Andrei Dmitriyevich Asafiev.

"Then there are your own abilities, second only to my own. I have watched the satellite footage countless times. Your triumph over the Lorwardians was absolute. I congratulate you on that necessary thoroughness. Yet you are proudly nonconformist, decadent, a product of corrupt Western values. The Lorwardians would have eliminated the defiant element, created a unified planet-wide society. Order. Law. Perfection." A pause. "You were allowed to destroy them. Why has God shed this power on you, Ron Stoppable?"

"Yeah, ah, doesn't it say somewhere that it rains on the just and unjust alike?"

"You paraphrase Matthew 5:45."

"Right, yeah, paraphrase. I'm not so good with the New Testament." _Or the Old Testament. Sure wish I'd paid more attention to Rabbi Katz. Water under the bridge now. _"I don't think God is so concerned with our powers. More with what we do with them."

"Interesting. No doubt we will find out –" The lights throughout the base flickered violently. "Now what?"

Ron tensed, seeing an opportunity._ If the power goes down, I get one chance at this._ "Maybe God is sick of your theology."

* * *

Gregori Shchedrin watched in astonishment as Adrena Lynn worked. He had never dreamed that anyone could assimilate fourth-dimensional topological equations instantly, or construct complex devices with such speed. The woman was a natural physicist, a savant. This was as much as a superpower as Shego's plasma blasts or Asafiev's radiation. A miracle.

So why had she spent her youth trying to be a media star?

She indicated the central pole of the chronoton attenuator. "Why are you using so much power here, Gregori?" She corrected herself. "Comrade Shchedrin."

"Gregori is fine, Adrena. As the power goes, we cannot maintain the chronotonic polarization field without it. If the field goes, the device is without direction. Left on their own, chronotons will inevitably cluster around catastrophic events in the timeline of the traveller."

She was surprised. "Any reason for that?"

"We think it is because of the temporal waves catastrophes generate. It is the difference in throwing a pebble into a pond, or throwing in a grenade." He motioned her to a table; together they studied the fragmentary schematics they had recovered from the island lab. "There is so much missing. Who knows what was here" – he pointed to a burned hole – "or here. But the wireless charger helped us considerably."

"Whoever built the original didn't have a wireless charger. And theirs worked. Any idea what they had planned to do with it?" She lowered her voice. "I'm _sure_ they didn't intend to bring _him_ here."

"No," Shchedrin muttered, "they didn't." He looked furtively, fearfully around. His crew was all on the other side of the lab, working on a different component of the machine. "You won't believe it. It's insane."

"Try me."

"Jack the Ripper."

"What? Why would anyone in the world want to –?"

"We don't know. We found a journal. A lot of – what is the word? – _drivel_ about 'bringing back the dead as they were before they died.' Someone was absolutely in love with that phrase. And Jack the Ripper. They were _convinced_ that he would help them in some way. Some enemy they planned to loose him on. And there was someone the builder was desperate to _impress_ with this_ bezumnyĭ_ scheme. The journal's as damaged as these schematics. More so."

"Sounds like the _author_ might have been damaged."

Shchedrin chuckled, the first laugh he'd had in weeks.

Just before the power dipped and spluttered, crashing computers, blowing out sensitive circuits. Something that should have been impossible.

The flickering fluorescents cast sinister highlights on Shchedrin's angry face, as he and his crew tried to recover from the brownout. _ Impossible? Or –_

In the chaos, no one was watching Adrena Lynn. No one saw her plug her cell phone into something she had cobbled together that afternoon, bit by bit, there on the cluttered workbench.

A small something. The sort of thing someone could possibly make out of a CD player's guts and some automobile wiring.

It didn't have the wide reach of the one she'd built all those years ago, around Paul's video camera. It was designed to hack into the base's network and send its simple message to a single reception point.

There was one person she knew could get her out of this.

* * *

Kim Possible stood in the center of her invisible cell, triggered the force bubble of her Battlesuit again. "Someone is way too clumsy. Or overconfident." The bubble expanded, crackling against the imprisoning field. "This is how we're getting out."

Shego was unimpressed. "You've already tried that. They're driving the field generators with the wireless charger. Way more juice than your fancy-schmansy _suit_ can produce."

"You bet," said Kim, cranking the field another notch. She could feel the Battlesuit's cybertronic circuitry overheating, but it was a chance she'd have to take. "I'm _sure_ that thing can spit out more juice than my suit. Wonder how much their _infrastructure_ can take? This base must have been built long before they got the charger. Let's put it to the test."

Understanding illuminated Shego's features; a second later green plasma illuminated the room, the violet light swallowing up blast after blast. "Dr. D! She's right. Go for broke. Shoot the works."

He was already lost to sight within the network of flowering vines straining against the field, vines that had once shattered Lorwardian battle alloy. "Ahead of you, hon."

The endearment put a little smile on Shego's face. Not that she'd let _him_ know it.

Overhead the lights flashed and flickered. There was the smell of hot copper, of burning insulation.

"Pour it on!"cried Kim, not sure how much more the Battlesuit could take. "Has to be…a breaking point…"

* * *

The lights flickered again; in that moment Ron lashed out, striking the invisible wall with the full supernatural force of _tai shing pek kwar. _Across the base breakers blew, fuses exploded. For a full second there was darkness, then the feeble emergency lights came up.

But the forcefield was down. Ron Stoppable was free.

And facing Andrei Asafiev.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Only Chaos is Real_ by Heldon; _Pawn Hearts_ by Van der Graaf Generator; _Byzantine_ by Vermicelli Orchestra, _Inception _s/t by Hans Zimmer_._

* * *

Hank Perkins, surrounded by his retinue of guards, had just entered Cell Block Seventeen when Vitali Raikh, head of Psychometrics, stopped him. He disliked hearing from the diminutive, bespectacled man; Raikh never interrupted him unless there was trouble.

The worry on Raikh's features revealed that this was no exception.

"Comrades," said Perkins, "wait for me at the door of their cell. I will join you momentarily. Comrade Raikh has some information for me."

The guards marched down the hall; Perkins turned to the gnomish man. "Make it fast, Comrade."

"Leader," he began, "you must be aware of the dissent and discord your pet atom-bomb is generating among the comrades. They are beginning to have second thoughts about the entire action plan. All the bonus incentives and Oz Principles in the world won't fix that."

He shook his head in disgust. "Qua-Czar found us, we didn't find him. And without him, we wouldn't have found the time tilting device. We'd still be working on long-range infiltration and subliminal subterfuge. It might take decades to do what we'll achieve in one lightning moment."

"Last night, seven men took a minisub and defected."

"Who told you that?"

Raikh gave no answer. "That would have been unthinkable six months ago."

"Some people are naturally worrywarts."

"Worry_whats_?"

"Never mind. I think you exaggerate the comrades' distress."

"They may alert Global Justice to our presence here."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll remain silent. They're loyal to the Union, if not to the plan." He smiled. Stanislav in Observation had informed him immediately of the problem. It was unfortunate; there were truly some good men on board the sub. But business is business. And there was a very good reason he alone knew that every submarine was fitted with self-destruct mechanisms.

Solving that had been as simple as clicking a switch. Seven less dental programs and retirement packages to concern the Accountants' Union. Getting to the root of the problem would be a lot more difficult. That's what Raikh should have been doing, not filling him in on the obvious.

The Leader scowled.

Raikh wasn't finished. "That isn't the worst of it."

Perkins sighed. "Thrill me."

"Qua-Czar himself is degenerating."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Raikh. He's indestructible. According to Shchedrin's people, his consciousness now extends to a subatomic level. The Conservation of Matter and Energy Law –"

"Don't turn a blind eye to the obvious, Leader. Mentally he is crumbling. This religious mania –"

"_Curiosity_. Yes, it's annoying, but it is what it is."

"And the sadism, Leader? The hair-trigger desire to destroy? That _annoys_ you also?"

He refused to give Raikh the satisfaction of being correct. "He was Spetsnaz. Vympel division. They're trained to be hardcore."

"Under the Spetsnaz training, under the, aah, religious _curiosity_, under the nuclear transformation, a human mind is trapped. And he _is_ trapped, believe me. Almost all the normal sensations are gone. It must be like living in an isolation tank. He is only truly alive when he is taking life."

"When the time tilter comes online, we'll put his destructive ways to excellent use. Not only will the Union never crumble, but it will become the dominant force on earth. We _will_ do what Drakken, Dementor, all the others could never accomplish. The world will be ours. With a weapon like him, unstoppable, virtually immortal, dedicated to his country –"

"And to his Leader?"

"Yes, and to his _Leader_. He knows he doesn't have the vision for such a far-reaching business model. He's no world dominator. He's a soldier, a willing tool for the man in power. There will be no rebellion from Andrei Dmitrye –"

The lights flickered, flashed, went out. The emergency generators kicked in, exactly as designed; the dimmer but perfectly acceptable emergency lighting came up. Whatever Possible and her goofy pals had done, he could undo. All contingencies had been planned for. He was no Dr. D. Unlike the Ray-X fiasco, unlike the gourmet cupcake debacle, this business venture could not be inopportunely terminated.

"L-Leader! _Look_!"

Raikh was pointing at something behind him, something beyond the bullet-proof, reinforced observation window. Blue highlights coloured his horrified features.

The Leader turned to behold the buildings and warehouses of the North Quadrant silhouetted against flashing cerulean light, emanating from somewhere not far away.

Somewhere close to Stoppable's cell.

* * *

"I offered to take you to your comrades," said Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev, shaking aside the rubble of the wall he'd been flung through. Men and women fled the area in terror, shouting their panic in a language Ron didn't know. "But it can never be easy with you people, can it? "

"I'll find my _comrades_ on my own." Ron's ch'i formed abstract simian shapes as it blazed around him. _Why won't he stay down_, he thought_. I don't want to – to do something I'll regret later_. "And then you can say _da svendaniya_ to your little Nazi playhouse."

"_Communist_! Not Nazi! We are _Communists_!"

"Potato, potahto. It's all coming _down_."

"_That will not be allowed_," shouted Andrei Asafiev, and attacked once more, still clad in the radiation suit. "Apparently the Leader's _shoes_ no longer _fit_."

"What?"

"It's a _metaphor_." Asafiev delivered a lethal uppercut, only to see his opponent nimbly dodge the blow. "Why must you make this difficult? Simply surrender." Two more punches also missed their target, smashing the stone wall behind Ron. The young man was as fluid as quicksilver.

"Sounds more like a _simile_." An instant later the radioactive man was slammed against yet another wall, this one less yielding than the last, and battered unmercifully, if futilely. "And _surrender_ isn't in my vocabulary. Well, actually it _is_, but I'm not –"

With a feral roar Asafiev kicked his opponent away, regained his footing. "You defeated the Lorwardians through surprise_. Treachery_. But I know all your tricks, you _Lucifer_. You have _ever_ lost the battle against God's anointed!"

"If we _have_ to talk religion, you're gonna haveta let me call the rabbi." Ron leaped into the air, high above the Russian, and hurtled downward with all the force of Mystical Monkey Power concentrated in his open palm, a technique that could pulverize granite.

At the last microsecond his opponent dodged, caught his outstretched arm, and spinning, used the velocity of his own meteoric descent to fling him into the side of a building. Brick and mortar exploded in a cloud of debris.

Ron staggered out, bruised, tasting blood. If not for the protective power of his aura, he would have been defeated by a simple jiu-jitsu maneuver, so basic he'd never considered it.

Despite the increase in his skill and abilities, there was still a lot to learn at Yamanouchi.

Before he could catch his breath, Qua-Czar pressed the attack.

* * *

The emergency lights came up to reveal the heavy metal door torn from its facings, still hanging in a network of vines. Drakken grinned wildly. "Pretty good, don't you think?"

The trio bolted from the room.

"Gotta get out of this building," Kim warned. They'd left her the Battlesuit, but taken the Kimmunicator from her wrist. There would be no quick getaway route from Wade. "They can't use their gas if we get outside."

A phalanx of black-clad guards were storming down the hallway.

"I'm guessin'," Shego began, "those guys are here to stop us." Before she could fling the first plasma blast, twelve thickly blossoming vines snaked past her, wrapped themselves around their adversaries and flung them unceremoniously down the hall.

Some of them stayed where they fell; a few staggered to their feet and ran away.

Shego powered down, favored her husband with a glare as they continued to run down the endless halls, looking for a door, a window, a vent big enough to climb through. "I could have handled it."

"So could I." He had a wild grin on his face, a mad light in his eyes. "I never realized how much fun all this _fighting_ could be."

"That's because you were always on the losing end," said Kim, running.

"Hrrph! I did just fine against Warhok and Warmonga."

"And you're doing fine here. You should have reformed a long time ago. See, the good guys _always_ win," she finished, wishing she was as confident as she sounded. Just beyond the next corner, flickering blue light tinted the walls, a colour Kim immediately recognized. She redoubled her pace. "Come on. We're going this way."

"Gotta go do a _boyfriend rescue_," Shego muttered, not completely under her breath. "That's just so _typical_."

The disdain in her voice was withering, but Drakken gave no response. He remembered a woman lying in a hospital bed, almost dead, surrounded by hostile GJ men and unknowingly lethal physicians. He remembered a man who risked everything he had to save her.

And he smiled a small, knowing smile. Not every good deed in life went acknowledged, and love was its own reward.

The trio rounded the corner and found themselves facing, not Ron, but a small, spectacled tortoise of a man and a taller, immaculately dressed individual, both standing before a large observation window through which the distant blue flashing could be seen.

Kim recognized the taller man immediately, despite the Lenin-esque goatee he'd grown since the last time she'd encountered him. At last the name came back to her.

"_Hank Perkins_!" she cried.

"She does that too," said Drakken, _sotto voce_, to his wife, who simply nodded.

The tortoise, despite his appearance, bolted down the hall, darted out the exit. Perkins was right behind him, shouting orders into his pocket communicator as he ran. "Tomasek! Cell block seventeen! Cleanup in aisle twenty-three!" The door slammed; none of them doubted it was locked. Gas began to spray from hidden nozzles overhead.

Shego's power suddenly flared into life; with a snarl she shattered the shatterproof window into a thousand shards, leaped through. "Come on!"

Her companions needed no convincing, Kim following her with a powerful jump, Drakken slowly lowering himself with a vine, a nervous spider spinning a leafy green thread.

"That's Ron," Kim said, eyes narrowing in the flashing blue light. "Let's go."

As they ran toward the cobalt aura, it was suddenly contaminated with an ugly, poisonous green glow.

* * *

They warily circled each other, mongoose and cobra, the older man's radiation suit torn and tattered, the younger man bloodied and bruised, but still savagely intent on victory. Asafiev was impressed in spite of himself. This combination of the Monkey Technique with the Axe-Fist was both unpredictable and brutal, far more dangerous than Shego's expert but mundane fighting skills. He was very much aware that any mere human being, even one with superior Spetsnaz training, would have already fallen to Stoppable's onslaught.

But he hadn't, of course. It was time to end this farce. The Leader would just have to accept it.

He yanked off the gloves, the mask, the cowl. Doubled, tripled his output. The bilious green luminescence, nothing like the emerald sparkle of Shego's plasma blasts, mixed repellently with the clear blue light of _tai sheng pek kwar_. Hands outstretched, he advanced on Ron. "You have been God's own favorite, Stoppable, and yet you tempt His grace, defy His will. Your fate is your own doing. Do not blame me before the judgment seat."

"You'll excuse me," he said, springing forward, seizing his adversary and spinning him over his head, regardless of the danger, "if I don't make that trip tonight." A blinding blue-white flash heralded Asafiev's impromptu launch as Ron catapulted the bellowing, cursing man into the air with all his might.

A similar move had destroyed the Lorwardians and their spacecraft, all those years ago, but he was sure this would only delay the radioactive man. Buy enough time to find Kim and get the coordinates of this Soviet loonybin to Global Justice.

That was the plan.

Reality proved very different.

To Ron's astonishment, his enemy suddenly flared up in his trajectory like an eerie green comet and plummeted back to earth. The ground shook with his impact, shattering the omnipresent tarmac, but Asafiev was up again in an instant and charging on Ron, his boots sinking into the ground with every thunderous step. The green glow was clearly visible, casting shadows on the buildings around them.

A wave of nausea swept over Ron, leaving a sick, shuddering weakness in its terrible wake. He tried to hide it.

Asafiev smiled. The green glow intensified; sirens across the base began to wail in terror, radiation detectors sensing danger. Workers, soldiers, comrades of all ranks and genders fled toward the submarine bay, knowing what those howling sirens meant. The Leader had them installed some time before, when the Scientists' Union had finally decided what Comrade Qua-Czar was.

The Leader was a great believer in preventive maintenance.

"Get _out_ of there," yelled someone, somewhere above Ron. "He's increasing the reaction – increasing mass." It was Drakken's familiar nasal growl; Ron dizzily spotted him leaning over the edge of the roof of a nearby storage building. "_You can't fight that!_"

Asafiev was almost upon him, raising fists that were heavier than lead as he came in for the kill.

"_QUA-CZAR_!" thundered Hank Perkins' amplified voice from speakers throughout the complex. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I _ORDER_ YOU TO _STAND DOWN_!"

If the radioactive man heard the voice, he ignored it. Perhaps he paused just a moment. And in that moment a lithe figure swung down on a wire, swept up the young man and swung to safety on the roof of another building. Asafiev bellowed his fury at them. "Rescued by your _woman_? You are _weak_, Lucifer! The Leader loses _nothing_ if I destroy _both_ of you!"

On the roof, Ron stumbled away from Kim, threw out his hands to keep her away. "Stay back –"

"R - Ron, what is it?" she heard herself stammer, though she already knew what the answer must be.

"I'm contaminated –" He staggered; heedless of his warning, she caught him as he fell, eased him down.

_This can't be happening_, she thought. _Ron can beat anyone. Anything. He's the Chosen One._

But the chosen one was covered in sweat, barely conscious.

Below them, Qua-Czar stalked toward the building, their shelter, deaf to the continued commands of his Leader, when a shout stopped him in his tracks.

"Hey, _glow boy_."

He knew that voice.

The radioactive man turned to behold the woman he thought he'd killed standing nonchalantly before him, a confident smile on her lips, an evil fire in her eyes. She held up a hand aflame with emerald energy.

"Why waste your time with _them_? _I'm_ here." She motioned to him. " Let's _dance_."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Infernal Machina_ by Jannick Top; _Hamlet,_ score by Dmitri Shostakovich.

* * *

On the roof of some nameless building in a secret cavern beneath the sea, Kim clung tightly to Ron despite his warning, afraid to let go, afraid of what might happen. He was still unconscious; she felt for his pulse, felt a weak, rapid fluttering there that scared her even more.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, tiny indicator of the gigantic turmoil going on within her. She loved him, of _course_ she loved him, how could anyone doubt it? They were meant to be together. She _knew_ that. Knew it in the deepest fiber of her being. So how could she _envy_ him? How could she…be _jealous_ of him?

Just before their high-school graduation, Ron had confessed to her that he was afraid of the changes the future might bring, unaware that she was just as frightened. But they would face that future together, for better or worse.

They had.

And as her fame seemed to wane with the years, his own increased; the whole world knew that Ron Stoppable had ended the threat of the Lorwardian invasion, while Kim Possible lay unconscious on the ground. With every obstacle he scaled, every course he ran, every foe he vanquished, she'd felt an inexplicable resentment at his increasing skill. The arguments, the tension, even the indecision about her college degree, it all came clear. For weeks, months, she had wanted things as they used to be, when Ron was the silly one, the clumsy one, the one in distress, and she was the strong one, the skilled one, the one who saved the day.

And now he _was_ in distress, and now she was the only one who could help.

Just like high school.

"I didn't want_ this_," the young woman whispered, and repeated it to Ron, to herself, to God, if there was a God to hear her. "Ron… Ron, _please_ hold on. I'm here. I'll get help. I'll –" She realized help could only come through surrender. There was no other answer.

She stood up and had almost turned when he opened his eyes, weakly reached up to her. "Don't." Barely a whisper.

"W-what?" More tears joined that first one. "Don't _what_?"

"You can't surrender. He won't let you." He groaned. There were blisters on his face, on his hands and arms.

"How… did you know?" That question would forever go unanswered.

"Get out of here. Now. We can't stop him."

"Shego thinks we can. She has some sort of plan, something she got from Cyrus Bortel." A sob caught in her throat. "Why – _why didn't you call the Lotus Blade_?" That supernatural sword was the heritage of the Chosen One; there was no substance on earth that could resist its edge.

"I hoped –" Every word was a burden. "I didn't want more ghosts…in my dreams. Tried to stop him without it. Without killing. "

"Maybe sometimes we – we have to."

"Only monsters _want_ to," he murmured, and closed his eyes, fell silent.

* * *

"You must know how this will end, Shego," said the radioactive man. "Why does a beautiful woman pursue her own destruction? Are you that eager to die?"

"You've asked me that before, glowboy. I'm still here." Warily, she circled him, staying well out of reach.

"Yes. Tempt God at your own peril." Asafiev looked cannily about. "Where is your blue pansy-man? Why isn't he here to protect his reckless woman?"

"It's a _giant hogweed_, not a pansy," she snapped. "And I don't need anyone to _protect_ me, glowboy." A bolt of plasma hissed through the air, followed by another. Both dissolved a yard from their target.

Asafiev shrugged, unconcerned. "Have you learned nothing? Ionized plasma is dispelled by hard radiation. And your childish insults mean nothing to me. I am not Drew Lipsky."

"I'll say."

From the loudspeakers stationed throughout the complex, the Leader's amplified voice was still barking commands. "COMRADES, EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL. RETURN TO YOUR POSTS." As he repeated the orders in Russian, the still-wailing warning sirens defied his reassurance. "COMRADE QUA-CZAR! _IMMEDIATELY_ CEASE ALL HOSTILITIES! BRING THOSE PEOPLE TO ME. _ALIVE_!"

The order brought a frown to Asafiev's already grim face. "Woman, you live a charmed life." His sickly glow dimmed, faded; a moment later the sirens wound down to silence. "Speak to me now as an ally, and the Leader will get his wish."

"I'm not the _good fairy_, Comrade _Quasar_. I don't grant wishes." The emerald harlequin laughed, jumped to the roof of a storage building. "Is that your _supervillain _name? Quasar…oh, I _get_ it. Boy, that's _awful_." She smiled wickedly. "Is it Qua-_C-z-a-r_ or Qua-_T-s-a-r_?"

"That _name_," growled her adversary, visibly annoyed, "is of no concern here. I am Andrei Asafiev."

"So tell me_, Qua-Czar_, are the _C-z-a-r_ and the _T-s-a-r_ the same person?" She cautiously moved just a little nearer. Mockery was a lot more effective when the mocker was in your face, she'd found. "I never paid much attention in history class."

"_Stop_. It is the Leader's invention. He thinks everything needs a catchy title, an acronym, a label. Too much business education."

"Wait a minute. That's _his_ voice on the loudspeakers. _That's_ what he was doing in the cell block..." She laughed again, a very unladylike guffaw. "Hank Perkins…is your _Leader_? You're _kidding_, right?"

"Friend or foe, Shego."

"So he finally made the big leagues. I knew I should have vaporized him, a long time ago. Then I wouldn't be stuck here with you, Comrade" – she snickered nastily – "_Qua-Czar_."

"Give me an _answer. Now._"

"Wait, wait just a moment, ok?" A giggle. "You could have done what I did. See, _She_rri _Go_rdon, She-Go, get it? Course, let's see, _An-_drei _As-_afiev – nah, you're better off with Qua-Czar."

"_You will not mock my name!" _ The tattered radiation suit suddenly burst into flame, falling away, revealing his dark grey uniform, made of something that could endure this fury. The sirens shrieked anew as the glowing figure advanced. The Leader's voice still yammered from the speakers, but Asafiev no longer cared. "I made a vow before God, Shego. I vowed that if you came before me as an enemy again, _I would kill you_." He glared up at her, shaking a radiant fist. "A vow before _God!_"

She hastily leaped to another building. Threw two more plasma bolts, which disintegrated before they hit him, of course. _So far, so good_, she thought. Let him think he had her on the run. She checked her leg pouch, making absolutely certain that the thing she'd commissioned from Bortel was still there, still ready. Glanced up at another building, where Dr. D. crouched, concealed, anxious, nervous, awaiting her signal.

She motioned to a massive crane towering over some other nearby construction equipment. That would do.

Drakken frowned. Some of the plan was still touch and go. He didn't like it; he wanted everything to be written down, diagrammed, mapped and double-checked before beginning. Not that he'd ever had much luck with all that. The only plan of his that had ever worked was the destruction of the Lorwardian war machines, and he'd run through that one on the fly.

Maybe she did live a charmed life. Maybe her luck would bring them through.

_Maybe_, he thought, _I'd better be ready to move. We'll only have a minute or two, at best. This is it, for better or worse. Richer or poorer. Sickness and health. Till –_

His face a mask of worry, he watched as the woman he loved jumped nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, threw futile plasma bolts at an ever angrier Asafiev. And he waited for the moment.

* * *

Betty Director, chief of Global Justice, was skeptical. "A set of coordinates? Why do you think that's important enough for us to check it out?"

The young man on the viewscreen was obviously worried. "They're not far off the Dry Tortugas. That's where I lost the signal from Drakken's hovercar. And it's where Kim and Ron went, looking for him and Shego. Kim's not answering the Kimmunicator. I think she's in trouble."

After the scandal he'd accidentally caused the last time the Kimmunicator had gone unanswered, he had hesitated to bring Global Justice into this, but he was certain this was real. And perilous.

"You think she sent that message?" asked Director.

"There's a hit every five minutes, like clockwork. Same coordinates. Nothing else. I think it's automated. I'm sure this is a lead to finding –" He almost mentioned the wireless charger, caught himself. It wouldn't pay to know too much. "To the four of them," he finished, lamely.

Director's sign-off was abrupt. "Thanks for your information, Citizen Load. We'll take care of it from here." The screen went dark.

Standing at his side, just out of webcam range, Joss laid a comforting hand on Wade's shoulder. "Hon, Ah'm sure GJ can handle it. It's what they do."

He looked up at this wonderful young woman that he had come to love, and thought again of how much she reminded him of Kim. Did he really love her for herself, or was there some misplaced emotion deep within him that had found an outlet there? _I've got to stop overthinking everything. Be glad for what we have. Stop analyzing it. _"I wish I could be sure. GJ's done some pretty silly things in the past. But they're all we've got."

"Ron and Kim are a solid team. They'll be okay." The confidence in her voice was quite convincing, quite insincere. She'd seen them last at the annual Possible Christmas get-together, several months past, and they weren't quite the same couple they had once been. Or had she just been so young when she first met them that she couldn't discern their flaws? There had been an argument over an adventure years past, something to do with Monkey Fist and an overdue library book. They'd settled it, but not before harsh words had been spoken and the jolly Christmas spirit dispelled.

"Everythin'll be fine, hon," she said, and they both wished they could believe that. "Maybe – maybe we might could _pray_ or somethin'."

"I don't know how, Joss." He had never thought much about religious things; his faith was in science, but now they needed help that science couldn't provide.

Joss wasn't very religious either, but she knew when all else failed, this was where people turned. "Then just hold my hand and I'll pray. You…just agree with me. In your heart." Their eyes met. "Can you do that?"

For answer, he bowed his head, as he'd seen people do, and Joss began a simple prayer, unadorned with scriptures or clichés. Just asking someone, somewhere, for help, as they both tried to muster the faith to believe that someone who could help was listening.

A supersonic Global Justice troop carrier flew over Middleton, but neither of them heard it.

* * *

"You cannot escape me, woman," shouted Asafiev. "God is on my side."

_We'll see_, she thought. A memory flashed through her mind, a bruised little girl in a dark closet, praying in a frightened whisper, praying that God would take her Daddy away, so he couldn't hurt her brothers and her Mommy and her any more.

Daddy had still been there the next morning. Worse than ever. From that moment on Sherri Gordon made her own destiny.

She raised her hands, crackling with emerald flame, and watched her monstrous opponent approach. Briefly wondered if he had an upper limit, or if this would end in a nuclear explosion. _Should have considered that earlier. No turning back now_. The warning sirens still wailed, but the Leader's instructions no longer thundered through the complex. She didn't like that; if Perkins wasn't at the microphone, there was no telling what he might be up to.

"Come on, then, _Qua-Czar_. I'm _ready_ for you. You ready for _me_, Comrade?"

The radioactive man stalked toward her. "Do not blame me for your short life when you stand before –"

The shadow of the crane's tall boom fell across them both.

"Yeah, I've heard it before," she jeered, and flung two bolts of emerald plasma that arced high above the surprised Russian and found their target just beyond him.

The crane exploded in flame.

As the boom toppled, she leaped deftly onto it, springing from there to another rooftop, watching with vicious satisfaction as her clumsier, bulkier adversary, his mass increased by the nuclear reaction within him, was caught and pinned beneath the twisted steel wreckage. She had imagined this would end in a parking building or near a signal tower; the big machine had come as a stroke of luck.

Not that it would stop him for long. She snapped open the leg pouch, held the tiny object therein high in the air. "Dr. D! Now! _NOW! _"

A single flowering vine stretched across the distance , plucked the little device from her hand, and with one fluid motion whipped it toward their enemy, furiously struggling in the metal debris. As the vine neared Asafiev, it began to wither, but the plant was a symbiotic organism; Dr. D. himself would not be affected.

Shego watched, realizing she'd almost left her husband behind at the lair, recognizing how impossible this would have been without his help. With the vines, they could subdue this maniac at a safe distance.

Pride swelled within her; they made a pretty good team.

Momentum carried the dying vine the final few feet, just as Asafiev broke free; it lashed across his forehead, dropping its payload there as it crumbled. An arc crackled from the postage-stamp sized circuit chip, sparkling briefly across the Russian's brow; his howl of rage was suddenly cut off as his eyes went blank and he stiffened robotically.

"_Power down!_" Shego commanded. This was the moment of truth.

The nauseating glow faded to nothing in the artificial light of the cavern lair.

Andrei Asafiev stood silent and still, awaiting further orders, the compliance chip slightly off-center on his forehead. It was designed to function in a radioactive environment; Bortel had raised a curious eyebrow at that stipulation, but asked no questions. "That will be easy enough, if you have the money," he'd told Shego. "Child's play."

And, apparently, it was.

Drakken clambered down from the building, ran to his wife's side. He had no idea how she would have accomplished this without his help, but he knew she would have come up with something. Shego didn't accept defeat. He was simply glad he had been there for her, and that the worst of the terror was over. Nothing Perkins could throw at them could be as dangerous as Qua-Czar, and now he was under their control.

They hoped.

Gingerly they approached the motionless figure, ready to fight or flee, desperately hoping neither would be necessary. "Not _too_ close," Drakken cautioned. "He's probably still emitting low-level radiation."

"Yeah." She stopped, regarding her enemy with loathing. Remembering the way he'd fondled her in the vault, as she lay sick and suffering. "Bark like a dog."

Gruff yaps filled the air.

"Okay, enough." An evil gleam shone in her eyes. "Do the Hula."

Asafiev clumsily twisted about, his face expressionless.

"Shego," Drakken whined, "stop playing around! It's _dangerous_. What are you trying to _prove_?"

"I want him to know what it's like. To have someone force themselves on you." She stepped a little closer to her foe. "I know you can hear me in there. I've been chipped before." There was no response. "When you think back on this, remember that we didn't have to kill you to defeat you. In fact, I like it better this way." She smiled. "Tell me who's in charge, _Qua-Czar_."

"You are, Shego," he mechanically replied.

"You bet." She turned to Drakken. "Go see how the buffoon's doing. I think this scumbag hurt him pretty badly. See if you can give Possible some help."

"No! I'm not leaving you with this –"

"I'll be right behind you. Qua-Czar's done. Finished." She stood before the motionless figure, stared into his unblinking eyes. "You'll stay here till I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Shego," came the droning response.

"I hope you _rot_ in GJ's tender care. I hope they have a lot of _tests_ to do, _probes_ to insert, _experiments_ to try. For a long, long time." She stepped forward and slapped him, hard, her clawed gloves leaving bloodless ruts in his cheek, ruts that almost immediately sealed over. "Did you _feel_ that, _Qua-Czar? _ I hope so."

In a blur of lightning motion, too fast to avoid, rough hands seized her, slammed her to the ground. She stared into the impassive, suddenly phosphorescent face of Andrei Asafiev, the chip still on his forehead.

"Did _you_ feel _that_, Shego?" he asked, his tone horribly jovial, conversational. "Give thanks to God. I feel so little now. No organic neurology. That is the cost of power." A burning hand clamped brutally around her throat. "I recognized the compliance chip immediately. I was briefed on all your exploits. It could not affect me, but a soldier will endure humiliation to gain the advantage."

His sudden smile was cold, savage. Feral.

"I was tired of the chase. But I thank you for the _acting_ opportunity! I was in _Hamlet_, many years ago. We got very good reviews." She writhed, twisted, battered and kicked, fighting to breathe, feeling the hard radiation digging into her body. The monster was still chattering on. "Of course I was not the star. Asafiev has never been a leading man."

He yanked her to her feet, smashed her with bonebreaking force against a wall. Just beyond him she saw Drakken, eyes wide, mouth gaping, too shocked to think, too horrified to move. _It figures_, she wearily thought, and suddenly realized this was the end.

Asafiev laughed, seeing that realization dawn in her eyes. "But that ruthless Shakespeare lays our little lives bare. 'To be… or not to be.' That _is_ the question, Shego. It is _always_ the question." Without warning he drove his searing hand upward, under her sternum, caught something wildly beating deep within her and tore it free, ripped it from her body and crushed its wet, pulsing mass beneath his boot. Stepped back, wiped the chip from his brow, and looked on hungrily, a terrible desire in his glowing eyes. "Heal _that_."

She staggered, hardly able to comprehend what had been done to her, looking down at the hole in her chest, seeing the dark blood, the tiny, brilliant emerald flashes in the red ruin, dying cells frantically trying to rebuild what had been lost. Pressing her hands to the gaping wound, she fell back against the wall, shaking uncontrollably._ No weakness. I can't let him know he hurt me. I won't. I won't give him the satisfaction,_ she thought, and knew that she already had.

Her legs gave way and she fell, all her wishes and hopes and tomorrows falling with her. Somewhere, a million miles away, Dr. D. was screaming her name, finally free of terror's chains. Too late, too late.

Something was moving in front of her face; with a tremendous effort she focused on it, realized it was her left hand, gloved fingers twitching. A lifetime ago there had been a scar on that hand. She remembered that it was gone now, and knew that was a miracle. She tried to remember how she got it, and couldn't, and knew that was a blessing.

She was so tired. A long night beckoned, with its promise of dreams. She closed her eyes. A little smile played about her lips. And for the first time since she was a very young child, she relaxed completely, fell back into the dark waters and let them wash her clean.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: Eurythmics' _1984: For the Love of Big Brother; Tyranny _by Shadow Gallery.

* * *

With a quaver in his voice, Drakken called her name again, still unable to believe what had just happened.

Ignoring his plea for caution, she had walked up to their enemy, said something he hadn't quite heard, and viciously slapped the man with her steel-clawed glove. The next instant, their foe had pinned her to the ground, his face and hands glowing with the sick light of radiation.

Then he had witnessed the unthinkable.

Mere minutes before, he might have saved her. Now his tears fell across her pallid face. Her eyes were closed; he wouldn't have been able to face that lifeless stare. "Shego…don't be dead," he implored the still, silent body, holding her close. "Please, I – I _need_ you," he said, and was racked with sobs.

Her murderer, his nuclear energy minimized, watched Drakken with distaste. "Even with your botanical might, you are pathetic. Spineless. You blubber as if something new and horrible has come upon you. Nothing has happened that will not happen to us all."

"_You killed her!"_ he screamed at their enemy, through his tears.

"Yes. And if I hadn't, she would have fallen down a stairwell. Or suffered a stroke. Or been hit by a runaway tram. Einstein assures us light speed is the universal constant. He is incorrect. Death is the universal constant. It is the Divine curse, Dr. Drakken; it has been with us since the Garden."

Drakken held her tighter, overcome with grief. _This is a nightmare,_ he thought. _In just a second she'll open her eyes, and laugh, and say something clever and devastating. Then we fight him and win. That's how it happens. That's how it always happens._

But she remained motionless and lifeless in his arms.

"She will be spared the ravages of time," said the radioactive man. "Always beautiful and passionate. Fixed in eternity, forever young."

The blue man stroked her hair, touched her face, silently begged his heart to beat for her, his lungs to breathe for her. Without looking away from her, he asked a single question.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

Asafiev shook his head. "The Leader thought your woman could help us, but she would have only been a thorn in our side, impossible to trust, worthless to the New Soviet Union. Kimberly Possible and her _chout_ companion are just as useless." He paused. "You, on the other hand, are a scientist,a talent we need."

"W—what?"

"The Scientists' Union is working on a magnificent plan, our Leader's grand design. I have stolen for it, terrorized for it, kidnapped for it, killed for it, and still it remains unfulfilled. Perhaps _you_ are the answer. Maybe Providence has cast you on these shores to complete the project."

A strand of her jet-black hair was out of place; he brushed it neatly back. She hated to have her hair mussed up. He solemnly crossed her hands on her chest, just below her breasts, covering the wound that had killed her. Whispered three words to her and kissed her brow.

Then he got slowly to his feet. A trio of vines sprang out, coiled, tense. His voice was quiet, even, the calm before the storm. "I'll die before I'll help you."

Asafiev laughed. "This, too, is incorrect." A sardonic smile. "You are afraid to die. That's why you stood there as I killed your woman. Fear."

Drakken looked at his hands. Saw her blood there.

"And the frightened man can be controlled," Asafiev continued. "Without the crudity of compliance chips. Now let us go to the Leader as allies. You will become a legend, the man who helped us restore order and discipline to a world that has lost it altogether." He indicated the body with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Or, if you must, you can join your woman in the next life. You have free will. Decide."

"Stop calling her that. She wasn't _my_ _woman._" A dozen more vines sprang forth as he stalked toward the still-amused Asafiev. "She didn't belong to _anyone_. She was _special_. Rare. _Unique_."

"And now she stands before God, and what is left is carrion. Count the cost before you act, Doctor Drakken." Suddenly he was no longer amused. "_I cannot be destroyed_."

"_We'll see!_" he screamed, and leaped on the monster, vines that had devastated Lorwardian weaponry reaching out to tear, to crush, to smash. Immediately Asafiev unleashed his power on the blue man and his mutant symbiote, but as one vine was poisoned and crumbled, another burst forth to take its place, over and over again, enveloping the Russian, tearing at his limbs, crushing his torso, ripping his lower jaw from his face, twisting his head free from the neck.

Drakken was a shrieking whirlwind, driven by rage, not stopping until the indestructible man was scattered lumps of glowing matter, no longer recognizable as human. Not stopping until radiation was consuming him, until his dark hair began falling out in clumps, until his sweat ran red as blood, until his eyesight blurred and began to fade.

Not stopping until he had avenged the woman he loved.

* * *

Hank Perkins, the Leader, stood in the doorway of the lab, his eyes shadowed, his features grim. Flanking him were his right-hand men, Ivanov and Khrennikoff.

Perkins drew a pistol, aimed it unerringly at Adrena Lynn. "Make it work," he commanded, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the time-tilting device's chaotic ticking.

The members of the Scientists' Union froze in their tracks.

"Make it work _now,_" Perkins repeated. "This venture will _not_ be forced into insolvency when we are so close to the goal."

"Leader," Gregori Shchedrin hastily began, "we can't. Even Adrena's technological talents cannot penetrate the mystery of the guidance system. Until that is solved, it would be disaster to enter the chronoton field." He spoke quietly, calmly, trying to defuse the situation. "That weapon will not change that, Leader."

"Don't try to pacify me, Shchedrin! She can't fix it because she isn't trying." He turned his furious gaze on Adrena. "I had you brought here to assist us. To be part of the_ team._ Not to make small talk with Comrade Shchedrin while you_ called Kim Possible for help!"_

The roar of the gun was deafening in the enclosed laboratory. Adrena involuntarily threw her hand to her heart, before realizing the shot was meant for the little device on the workbench, now just so much twisted junk.

Perkins was again calm and collected, his temper under control. "What you didn't know, Miss Lynn, is that Kim Possible is just as much our prisoner as you are. There will be no salvation from that direction."

Khrennikoff, who rarely spoke, suddenly erupted. "Now you will _make that machine function! _Or you can discuss the matter with Comrade Qua-Czar, who is becoming extremely – what is the word? – _antsy_ about the whole situation."

Unexpectedly, Adrena stood her ground. "I've heard your Leader bellowing orders over that intercom. That's what this is about. You're losing control of your freaky assassin, aren't you? You've got to get this thing working before he goes completely off his nut."

Perkins grimaced.

"Comrade Qua-Czar," intoned the funereal Ivanov, "has placed his talents and abilities completely at the beck and call of the Leader. He desires nothing but the restoration of the country he served as a Vympel operative prior to his - transformation. You would do well to consider his wishes your top priority, Miss Lynn." The old man pointed to her shattered signaling device. "If he should suspect that you are hindering the project, I assure you he will not hesitate to remove you from this scientific _kolkhoz_. Permanently."

If the threat frightened her, she didn't show it. "And if that happens, then your time machine never works. Gregori and his men are good, but they're not good enough. But you knew that when you kidnapped me."

The troika listened in baleful silence.

Adrena continued, the dread within her tightly controlled, inaudible in her voice. "I'm the one who took over world communications with a Sony videocam. I'm the one who'll crack this thing, if anyone can. So _you_ would do well to make my safety _your_ top priority. Keep your atomic man away from this 'scientific kolkhoz.' Or all your frea – all your big plans just might go _iz okna_. Is that right?"

"Close enough," snarled Khrennikoff. He snapped his fat fingers; armed guards stormed into the lab. "These men will make sure there are no more technological diversions. We will expect results very soon." He approached the woman, who faced him without fear. "You wear courage like a mask, Lynn; I've seen it many times before. I hope you will be just as bold when your delays _do_ cause us to lose control of Comrade Qua-Czar. Because there will be no mercy, believe me, if that happens."

The three men left the lab, walked down the hall. Comrade Raikh of the Psychology Department joined them. "Leader, fellow comrades, we have problems."

Perkins, exasperated, exploded. "I know, Raikh. Qua-Czar is cracking up on us. Our people are in disarray. You've made that abundantly clear. What else have you got? Anything?"

"Yes," he said, tone so dire that even Ivanov was troubled. "Shego is dead. He killed her."

Perkins stopped in his tracks, stunned. "I ordered him to bring her in alive. To cease hostilities. A direct order. No options, no choices. _I wanted her alive_."

"The comrades in Observation saw it on the security cam."

"Why am I hearing this from _you_, Raikh?"

"I – Leader, I have asked them to keep me posted on Comrade Qua-Czar's actions, in my official position as Head of Psychometrics. I've told you that he is dangerous, not only to our enemies, but ultimately – "

"Never mind that. Did they send some men out there? Get her to sickbay? She's recovered from radiation before."

Ivanov and Khrennikoff scrutinized their Leader without word or expression, exchanged a knowing glance. Superhuman or not, Shego could not have been that important to their goal. It was very clear the Leader had held some misplaced feelings for the fiery, rebellious woman. Qua-Czar might well have done them a favor.

"It wasn't radiation. His Spetsnaz, ah, _skills_." Raikh shuddered, his face pale. "There was no doubt that she was dead, Leader."

"Drakken? Possible? Stoppable?" It was all falling apart right before his eyes.

"We've lost track of Team Possible, if they're still alive. Drakken –"

"_Yes_?"

"According to Observation, he's done a very foolhardy thing."

* * *

Unable to stand, Dr. Drakken crawled slowly, agonizingly back to her, leaving fragments of dead vine in his wake. It seemed to take an eternity to reach her, to tell her what he'd done.

Behind him, shadows shifted, phosphorescence flickered. Something moved.

"Sherri," he whispered, reaching out to touch her still face. "I – I did it." He coughed up blood. The petals that surrounded his face were wilted and brown. "I killed him. I killed Qua-Czar. For you."

"Again you are incorrect," said a horrible, gurgling voice, a voice just recognizable enough to fill Drakken with terror. Glowing hands dragged him away from his beloved, spun him to stare into the face of Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev, a face still only half-formed, still flowing together before the scientist's eyes. "An excellently _thorough_ effort. You die a man, not a cowering invertebrate. But my consciousness extends to the subatomic particles of my being; there is nothing I cannot recover from. That said," and the face smiled beatifically, "I_ felt _that."

Drakken closed his eyes, expecting the death blow, but Asafiev flung him down beside Shego's body in disgust. "You _have_ destroyed the uniform the Scientists' Union developed. Pity. They'll have to make another." Turning away, he added "Tell God we asked you to help us with the time-tilting device; instead you chose to die."

Somehow the scientist mustered the strength to speak. "…_Time-tilting device_?"

The radioactive man stopped, bent down to him. "One was built by some unknown genius, years ago. On an island. It brought me through time, and in doing so, fused me with the radioactivity that should have killed me. Through the sovereign will of God, it made me what I am."

Drakken groaned in an agony deeper than any sickness, realizing what must have happened. Somehow she must have known. She'd tried to destroy it. He remembered. He'd been so furious with her over that.

Her blood was on his hands even then.

"That machine was destroyed, but we construct another." Now completely whole, Asafiev coldly watched the blue man writhe. "We will ensure that my country does not collapse. Our new world order will stand a billion years. We will impose sanity on this global madhouse." He stood up, walked away from the dead and the dying. "You have thrown away not only the chance to live, but to have ever existed at all."

* * *

Before Kim's eyes, Ron was losing the battle, growing paler, his breathing growing shallower by the moment. And there was nothing she could do to help him. Suddenly his eyes opened in panic; he grabbed her hands so hard it hurt. Blue ch'i energy surrounded him. "I won't let you fall, Kim," he said, delirious. "I won't let go."

"Ron, I'm –" She choked up, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm all right, Ron. You – you saved me." _Over and over again_, she thought. _From Warhok and Warmonga. From Drakken, Shego and Hank Perkins. From Professor Dementor. From Miss Hatchet, back in school, when all our missions seemed so light-hearted, and death was just a word, powerless to touch us. _

He let go of her hands, reached up to lightly touch her face. "I love you, Kim." He smiled, the silly schoolboy smile. Then he sighed and fell back, as the aura flickered, flashed, and went out.

From behind her a disarmingly cheery voice rang out: "Ah, Miss Possible! I thought you came this way. We have not been properly introduced. I am Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _This Mortal Coil_ by Redemption; _Labyrinth _by Juno Reactor; _Best of Blue Oyster Cult_.

* * *

Kim spun around at the sound of the voice, her force field up in an instant. The shield instantly fluorescenced a brilliant blue, the effect so vivid and unexpected that she gasped in surprise and awe.

"The Cherenkov effect. Interesting." said the glowing, naked figure striding toward her. "Forgive my impropriety, Kimberly," he jeered. "My uniform was ruined, and I have not had time to find another."

The man she loved lay motionless just beyond the force bubble. Before she could act, Asafiev had reached him. The radioactive man knelt to inspect the body, knowing already what he would find.

"_Don't you touch him!"_ Her cry was born of both fury and fear.

"God has deserted your Lucifer, woman. He fought me, unprotected, barehanded. Like reaching into an atomic pile." Asafiev continued his assessment. "Not even one of his potential could survive such a desperate error. The book of his life is closed." He stood, lifted the body with one hand, holding it up before Kim. "Have you never seen death before? Get a good look, girl." He was amused by the tears on her cheeks. Tears that could not quench the vengeful fire in her eyes.

Then he threw the corpse aside. "God granted Stoppable a magnificent gift. With it, he destroyed the Lorwardians, who would have brought law and discipline to this world." As he walked slowly around her, Kim followed him within the force sphere, tensed for battle. The Russian continued his tirade. "He would have tried to do the same to us. Defiance of Divine order. Useless to the cause. Shego as well; undisciplined, erratic, belligerently individual. Drakken could have helped us, but he chose instead to fight."

The implications of the radioactive man's words struck Kim like a hammer. "And – and they're –" The word wouldn't come.

Asafiev had no such problem. "Dead? Yes. All the superhumans have fallen – the comet girl, the plant man, the Chosen One. It has come down to you and me. And an apparent impasse. I did not know your Battlesuit could protect you from radiation." He sighed, shrugged. "Usually the data we receive in briefings is sufficient. But there must be some surprise to life, or it loses its value."

_Value of life, _Kim thought. _This murderous maniac's talking about the value of life. _"Sorry," she angrily spat, "to ruin your plans."

"Oh, _you_ haven't troubled my plans, girl. Your suit has. You have done exactly what I would expect you to do." He smiled and tapped the sphere. "Stayed here with your boyfriend until his final moments. Because, you see, I said we _appear_ to be at an impasse. We _would_ be, if I had announced myself the moment I came up on the roof. But you two were saying your final goodbyes, and it would have been unthinkable, _inhuman_ to disturb you with my presence."

Without warning her vision blurred; she shook it off. The madman's phosphorescent smile grew wider.

"_Feel_ all right? Maybe a little _nausea_, a hint of _dizziness_, perhaps?" The smile vanished; he slammed his fists against the shield in rage. " My mistake was desiring to watch you go slowly. This force field has bought you some time, but that's all."

"I – I don't believe you." Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickled down the nape of her neck. "You're lying." The beginnings of nausea churned in her stomach, telling her how wrong she was.

"God gave us free will to make decisions. Yours are now very limited, Kimberly. Leave that force field up, and when it runs out of power, we will feed your corpse to the sharks." His voice lost its edge as the lethal glow around him vanished. "Or drop the shield, and die so quickly you won't feel it. I killed my first target at seventeen, and I am very proficient at it. What were you doing at seventeen, girl? Cheerleading? 'Fighting crime in your spare time?'"

She saw herself at the Bueno Nacho headquarters, in the falling rain, kicking the woman in green into the short-circuiting signal tower, watching her burn in the current, satisfied with what she'd done. _Ron and I talked about it, before all this, before –_ "You'd be surprised," she snarled, trying to hide her anguish, her fear.

"I doubt that, girl. You have no more surprises for me."

Her whole body was starting to ache now, deep in the muscles and bone.

"Lower the force field, and your death will be instant and merciful, I promise. I do this for you," and his lustful smirk sickened the young woman, "because I have always a _thing_ for redheads."

The field vanished; before the big man could react, Kim vaulted backward, putting space between herself and the monster. "This isn't over," she told him, and fired her grappling hook, swung down to the tarmac below.

Asafiev shook his head in wonder, watching her disappear among the buildings of the undersea complex. "_Pokha net, no skoro_," he muttered to himself. _Not yet, but soon_. When Possible was dead, he would have a long discussion with the Leader. Men like Hank Perkins were necessary, men with vision, with charisma. Men the people would follow. But a true Leader would have liquidated Drakken and Shego, and done the same with Stoppable and Possible as they were captured. This whole experience had been a waste of time.

Leaders were essential, but sometimes they were too close to their own plans. Sometimes it took men of lesser vision, cruder temperament to recognize excess fat, and trim it. And if that made him a butcher, so be it. He would be the best butcher he could be, for the Leader, for the Supreme Soviet, for the Union.

God had spared him for that reason.

It had to be. It was all he had left.

Kim hit the ground running, not sure how far Asafiev could project his lethal rays, not sure how much time she had to find an answer. There had to be an answer. She was a Possible, and anything was possible for her. Anything. _That mantra didn't work the last time I tried it, _came the unwanted thought,_ and I was just trying to study. How can it help me now? Ron's - _

She ducked between two Quonset huts, out of sight, and stood in the near-darkness shaking, sobbing, her fists clenched, her eyes squeezed shut. Sometimes, against her will, thoughts of her own mortality had come to haunt her; sometimes, on troubled, sleepless nights, she'd stared into the darkness and wondered how it would come. It would not be terrible for her and Ron, she imagined; one day, years and years in the future, after their children had grown up to have children of their own, they would lie down together and leave this world peacefully, even romantically, walking hand in hand to Heaven's gates.

Just like in _The Memo Pad, _one of her favorite movies.

Not like this. Never like _this!_

With an effort she pulled herself together, stealthily crept through the alleys between the storage buildings. The sickness was a little worse now. _It's no worse than the flu_, she told herself_. I've worked through the flu before. Looked after Ray-X with the flu. It's no big. Really. _

But there was a widening pit of fear, deep in her guts, that no self-deception could close.

Ahead of her was a deserted construction site, the shattered wreckage of a fallen crane not far from its centre. She darted from behind a dumpster to an ancient D-7 bulldozer, from the dozer to the shadow of the wrecked crane, keeping the equipment between her and the ubiquitous observation cameras throughout the area. Her only plan was to somehow get to the Sloth or Drakken's hovercar and escape. Get word to someone who could stop Perkins, his henchmen and his monstrous ally.

She knew she couldn't. Not this time.

Something lay at her feet, no bigger than her fist, something crushed and sticky with drying blood. "Oh my _God_," she gasped, realizing what it was, backing away from it in horror.

A human heart.

A withered hand reached out of the shadows, grabbed her leg. Drakken, or what was left of him. Vines jerked and twitched aimlessly. The pitiful face stared into hers, distorted, eyes bleeding; the cracked lips parted to rasp out words.

"P – Possible? Is it you? Not… dreaming?"

It took everything she had to answer him gently, calmly, not at all like a person losing her mind. "It's me, Dr. Drakken."

"Still _all that_." Was there a faint smile on the ruined features? "_Time tilting device_. Clocks and wires. They can't work it. Don't have…the _genius_." There was a hint of pride in the failing voice. "Will be…biggest power drain in base. Find it."

"How –"

"Isn't anything possible…" He trailed off. "Find it, use it, bring her back. Promise me. Bring her back as she was. Before –" He tried again. "Before she –" With a final sigh, the voice fell silent, the twisted vines rustled a moment and were still. A few yards beyond them a figure in green and black lay motionless beside a half-finished wall; Kim choked back a sob. It hadn't been completely real to her until this moment.

She would never kiss Ron again, never feel his strong arms around her, never wonder at where his increasing power might take them. She would never meet Drakken again, whether as friend or foe. The apology she owed Shego would go forever unsaid. Soon she would join them. Time had run out for them all.

_Time? _

Like an electric shock, Drakken's last words broke through her horror, her grief_. _Had they been only delirium, or had he truly given her a chance to change all this?

Anything was possible for a Possible.

This time she clung to those words as a drowning soul clings to floating debris. _Biggest power drain._ Follow the transmission lines. Watch for substations, transformers.

Standing there before the bodies of her one-time foes, feeling slow death working within her, she suddenly found a purpose, a confidence, a hope she had almost lost. Something that overcame the fear, at least for the moment.

Was there, somewhere in this complex, an answer?

There had to be. It was all she had left.

* * *

The temporal vortex still whirled wildly before the members of the Scientists' Union, most of whom regretted ever joining forces with the Leader.

"Tell me now, Comrade," said ancient, sinister Sergei Ivanov to Head Scientist Gregori Shchedrin, "can she _ever_ make this thing work? Can _you_?"

Shchedrin stammered, afraid of what his response might bring. Finally he answered the old man in their native tongue: "I – I cannot say, Comrade Ivanov! Who knew the fixed laws of this science would be so obstinate? The control of Time is a new field!"

"_Time_, Comrade? We are out of time."

"I don't know Russian," said Adrena Lynn, "but I can suss what you're asking. I can't fix it." She hated to admit it.

"But, Adrena," began Hank Perkins, a Leader watching his leadership crumble, "surely you can seize this opportunity, think outside the box _just enough_ to –"

She cut him off. " _'Think outside the box.'_ " The scathing sarcasm in her voice made him cringe, something Ivanov and Khrennikoff noted with silent disapproval. Unconcerned with Perkins' feelings, Adrena continued. "This is one time all your _freaky_ motivational slogans won't make a bit of difference." She didn't realize she'd used the word. "Yes, I have a special talent for technology. But this – I don't know how to make it work. And you don't dare use it like this." She laughed, a tired, hopeless sound, and gestured toward the vortex. "I'm sorry. I can't fix it. I wonder if _anyone_ can. Maybe even the original was defective."

"Then the project is finished," Khrennikoff announced with finality. "We return to simple terrorism. Use the wireless charger to overload America's power grid, and during the ensuing chaos, seize control. All this time travel nonsense is a joke, a farce."

Several men in black stood at attention in the lab, waiting for orders; Khrennikoff spoke to them in Russian.

A second later, both Adrena Lynn and Hank Perkins were their captives.

"Wait!" Perkins was furious. "_I _give the orders. _I _had the vision, the incentive." His practiced professional calm had slipped completely away. "_I _am the Leader here!_ Me! Hank Perkins!"_

"You are overworked, Leader, "cooed Ivanov. "You need only step down and allow those with experience to lead. Think of it as a vacation."

"In a holding cell," Adrena Lynn murmured, "if you're lucky."

Perkins favored her with a glare.

"Oh, come _on_," she added. "You didn't see this coming?"

Ivanov ignored her. "It is a necessary thing we do, Leader. Firmer hands than your own must take charge, until the current discord is resolved. It will be only a temporary thing."

"Don't patronize me!" He struggled in the henchmen's grip, to no avail. "This is all my design. This lair, this project, all of it. You'd still be hiding in the forest without me. You'd still be waiting for the Vikings."

"Vikings?" The old man frowned. "You are no Viking, Comrade. And we are a long way from the forest." He nodded to the men in black. "Take them away. And schedule this thing for immediate demolition and recycling." He turned to Shchedrin. "Turn it off."

"No," came a voice from an overhead catwalk. "It's the only hope we've got." Kim recognized the device from years ago; it was better organized than Drakken's had been, but it was definitely the same sort of machine. She was surprised that she remembered it so well; it had been one of the mad scientist's least successful creations.

And one of her least successful missions. The components she'd been asked to recover had been destroyed. She and Ron had barely escaped with their lives.

She couldn't afford to fumble the ball this time.

Two henchmen came at her, from either side of the catwalk, both bearing shock-rods. She nimbly avoided their clumsy attack, leaping from their midst as they swung, somersaulting down to the next level as her attackers stunned each other into unconsciousness.

The room was spinning around her. She struggled to shake it off. The flu-like aching had evolved into throbbing pain. The last thing she needed was a fight with flunkies.

One was coming, though, regardless. She steeled herself for the battle.

"Imbeciles," shouted Khrennikoff at the gawking henchmen, "get up there and stop her."

As the black-suited minions ran toward Kim, Adrena Lynn saw an opening, slammed her elbow into her captor's solar plexus, finished him with a hapkido blow. Considered escape for a split second. The next moment she was on the catwalk with Kim. "So you got my signal?" she asked, as back-to-back they watched the swarm of foes approach.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Perkins said you were his captive, too. Guess he was lying."

Suddenly she recognized the voice. "_Adrena Lynn_?"

"Used to be. June Summer now. Long story."

The mob was upon them, shock-rods held high.

"Never thought I'd see you again." They assumed battle stances. "Thanks for the help."

"Don't mention it." The first of many henchmen flew off the catwalk to the floor below. "I guess you've got a plan?"

"You bet." _I have no idea what to do,_ she thought, disarming a grunting minion, flinging him into another. _Drakken said the machine could bring them back, but I don't know how. And bringing them back still doesn't get us out of here. Or help me at all. _She vented her frustration and pain on the next henchman foolish enough to attack her, leaving him sprawled on the floor. "How's that thing work?" she shouted to Lynn.

"It doesn't," Lynn yelled, dodging a wildly flailing shock-rod. "It would drag you to the biggest disaster of your life." She yanked the weapon from the man's hands, struck him in the stomach with it. "Another one down. This isn't so bad." She glanced around at Kim, saw the sweat on her brow, the desperation in her eyes, and knew something was terribly wrong.

Another man in black confronted Adrena, who responded with a brutal roundhouse kick. To her surprise, he dodged the blow, sent her flying across the catwalk with her own momentum, to crash hard against the wall. "You amateurs always _fall_ for that," he said, and she recognized the voice, realized with horror who it was. "Hapkido is all about using your opponent's energy against them. You should know that, Adrena Lynn." Before she could get to her feet, he had her in a lethal _shimewaza_ hold, exerting just enough pressure to leave her dazed, unable to resist. "Possible!" Asafiev shouted. "Surrender or I kill her."

Before Kim could respond, a bevy of explosions rocked the complex; uniformed agents thundered into the lab, led by a heavyset man, who barked "Nobody move. This all ends here and now." His men leveled rifles at the cowering scientists, at Perkins, Khrennikoff and Ivanov, at the remaining henchmen.

Asafiev laughed. "Global Justice?"

"That's right, pal. Global Justice." The big man's voice was oddly familiar to Kim. "A little birdie told us about this fishbowl. We're shuttin' this Red Menace down."

"_Mr. Barkin?_" she asked, quietly, weakly, holding herself up by clinging to the handrail.

"That you, Possible? It figures. Yeah, I got my fingers in a lot of pies. Figuratively speaking." He turned his attention back to Asafiev. "Let that woman go, pal."

"Certainly," said the radioactive man, with a smile. The snap of her neck was audible throughout the lab. He threw the body over the catwalk. "I don't need hostages." Rifles fired uselessly. The Russian threw his arms wide, as if to embrace the bullets. "You have forced me to do this," he shouted. "There will be other Leaders to command our new Union, other scientists to make the machine obey. I will seek them out. The chance of power draws such men from afar. But the machine cannot be harmed, the plan cannot be halted." He began to glow.

"My God, Asafiev," pleaded Hank Perkins, the Leader, realizing what was about to happen, "don't do this thing. _Have pity!"_

"At last you remember my name, Leader. I appreciate that. But He is _my_ God, not yours. And shortly all of you will stand before Him."

The madman was standing directly above the time-tilting device.

Mustering her strength, Kim bolted across the catwalk, tackled him; his increasing mass broke through the already weakened guardrail and together they plummeted into the vortex.

There was a terrifying sense of falling, a blurring of image, an unnatural silence, and then they were elsewhen, an elsewhen filled with the screaming of klaxons. An elsewhen where the blue glow of Cherenkov radiation vied with the flickering orange of roaring flame.

Nearly overcome by heat, by smoke, by the deadly radiation in the air, Kim staggered, fell against the searing wall, barely able to stand.

Asafiev regarded her with astonishment. "Why are you here at Chernobyl, girl? This is not your timeline. It is mine."

She didn't answer, was unable to answer, but the realization shook her more than the violent quaking of the concrete walkway beneath them. _We share this moment. I haven't even been born yet, and this is the end of my life. The end of everything I fought for. Everyone I loved. The biggest disaster of my life. The nexus of the crisis, where it all started. For both of us. _She looked into the monster's face and saw her death there. _Where it all ends. _

Grinning his lopsided grin, Andrei Asafiev stared into Reactor Number Four's shattered power core, transfixed. "When you are dead, Kim Possible, I will enter the core. There is no death for me. My consciousness will extend to every radioactive particle." With an effort, he broke away, turned to Kim. "Then I shall present myself to Comrade Gorbachev. There will be no glasnost, no perestroika, no weakening of the iron that is the Union. With my power at the Leader's behest, we will transform the globe. Perkins' grand scheme will be achieved without him." He reached out to the dying young woman. "But first –"

A bulkhead burst open; a man fell through, cursing in Russian, sheathed in flame, crashing against the handrail, looking up to see the redhaired woman and the radioactive man.

"_Mozhet ne byt!"_ shouted Asafiev, seeing who had just lurched into the chamber, unable to process the recognition, to accept the reality. _Impossible. _Even Spetsnaz training had not prepared him for this. And the impossible held both him and the burning man motionless for a split second, as they looked into each other's faces and saw their own.

A flood of memories swept

**_(__Tears fell on the table, into her drink. "I was __glad__ to see her die. I was seventeen years old and I was glad I'd killed someone." _**

**"_It was a long time ago. It was years ago. And she didn't die, Kim. You didn't kill anyone."_**

**"_But I _wanted_ to!__" She began to sob again; Ron tried vainly to console her. "That's not __right__. It's not __right__ to want to kill someone. Anyone. Even Shego. Am I crazy? This thing we do, these missions – are we both crazy?"_**

**"_Someone has to, Kim. Someone has to keep the world safe. That's what you do. What __we__ do.")_**

over Kim

**_(__On the roof, Ron stumbled away from Kim, threw out his hands to keep her away. "Stay back –"_**

**"_R - Ron, what is it?" she heard herself stammer, though she already knew what the answer must be. _**

**"_I'm contaminated –" He staggered; heedless of his warning, she caught him as he fell, eased him down._**

**_This can't be happening, she thought. Ron can beat anyone. Anything. He's the Chosen One._**

**_But the chosen one was covered in sweat, barely conscious.)_**

in that slice of a second

**_(__A sob caught in her throat. "Why – why didn't you call the Lotus Blade?" That supernatural sword was the heritage of the Chosen One; there was no substance on earth that could resist its edge. _**

**"_I hoped –" Every word was a burden. "I didn't want more ghosts…in my dreams. Tried to stop him without it. Without killing. "_**

**"_Maybe sometimes we – we _have_ to."_**

**"_Only monsters _want_ to," he murmured, and closed his eyes, fell silent.) _**

and then the grappling gun was in her hand, the trigger pulled with the last of her failing strength. The hook shot through the contaminated air, smashing into the face, reducing those familiar features to a shattered red pulp. The body jerked, twitched, fell backward into the inferno. Was reduced to vapor in an instant.

Behind them, unseen by anyone, there opened a door to the future, a four-dimensional gateway that led to a tropical island, where a time-tilting device was self-destructing, where a doomed man would come forth a radioactive monster. But that man was no more, and that future was no more, and as that gateway closed forever, the universe, in all its dimensions, began to heal the rift.

Both Kim Possible and Andrei Asafiev staggered as the world shook beneath them; not only the world, but the cosmos. The flames of Chernobyl were lost in a kaleidoscope of images, as present and future crashed into each other, as the timestream shook off the artifacts of paradox, as what had been reality became never-was and what might have been took its place.

The indestructible man looked down to see himself disintegrating, fraying away, his consciousness crumbling as, even at a subatomic level, he ceased to exist. And watching, he began to laugh. "I will never finish listening to that Penderecki disc. Congratulations, Kimberly Possible, on being _thorough_!" His voice was fading in and out, as if someone was playing with the volume control of a television; even so, she heard his last words clearly, as a universe restored to sanity swept the last vestiges of Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev away: _"You would have gone far in the Spetsnaz!"_

Kim was also fading, caught in the same unreality as her foe, a product of a future that had never come to be. And as oblivion opened wide to receive her, three final questions filled her mind and heart:

_Will the others be there, be well, in the new future?_

_Will there be any evidence, any residue of what we've done?_

And finally, in the last sliver of her existence, the question that haunts all of humanity:

_Will there be another morning, after this long night? _


	13. Chapter 13:Epilogue

Disclaimer: if you saw it on TV, I don't own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Oblivion Days_ by Rocket Scientists; _Minimum-Maximum_ by Kraftwerk.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

The headline was simple and stark: "Super-Heroine Foils Plot!" Below it Shego wickedly smirked, hands blazing with emerald fire. Kim briefly wondered why they'd used that picture. She'd seen that expression countless times, up close and personal. It didn't look very heroic.

Inside there was a photo taken at the United Nations, just before Drakken received his medal and their pardon. After all, they'd saved the world. A very different woman in a formal dress smiled hesitantly from the photograph. _Almost demure_, thought Kim. _Never imagined that word would ever apply to Shego_.

Drakken was a blur in the background, gazing quizzically at his sidekick.

A year and a half later the former supervillains had walked down the aisle together as cameras flashed all around them. Neither Kim nor Ron had been there, despite a cordial invitation; they had been in Belgium, trying to recover composer Noyes Andrakit's priceless score for the _Concussion Symphony_ from a madman calling himself Dr. Maestro.

Life certainly had its surprises.

That had been their last newsworthy appearance. Until now.

As if on cue, her fiancé laid a hand on her shoulder. "What's up, KP?"

"Ron, did you read this?"

"Yeah." He sat down beside her. " Well, I skimmed it."

"So you just read the headline."

"More or less. But there's a video at the KXKVI website." He grabbed the remote, clicked the TV on. "Somehow the news caught up with Shego right after it all went down. Watch this."

A few more clicks, and the brunette's beautiful features filled the screen, surrounded by microphones.

"Real deer-in-the-headlights look, there," Ron remarked.

"Totally. I'm surprised they didn't get a faceful of _plasma_ for their trouble."

"Hold that thought. Besides, she's a _good guy_ now, remember." His tone belied his words. "They both are. Saved the world."

"We all know who saved the world, Ron." She snuggled a little closer to him. "I notice she's wearing her action gear."

"Yeah. Listen."

Shego was telling her story to the relentless newshounds. "Ah, I got a _tip_ that these guys were, uh, going to _strike_ there tonight." She wiped her forehead, though the harsh camera lights revealed no sweat. "So I, ah, I dusted off my old costume and went out to meet them."

"So it was a stakeout?" asked someone off-screen.

"Staked the place out, yeah. Right." She cleared her throat. "Sure enough, they walked right into my, uh, _trap_."

"How many of them were there?"

"Seven," she replied, and for the first time her smile appeared genuine. "Had some wicked martial arts skills, too. At least they thought they did. Nothing I couldn't handle."

"We understand that by the time Global Justice agents arrived, the villains were all subdued."

"Yeah, subdued. You bet." She glared straight into the camera. "And hey, GJ – you guys oughta _knock_ before blazing into a place. Could have given away the _game_. Could have wrecked the whole, uh, _stakeout_."

"What were the criminals after? Any idea?"

"Me? _Idea_? No." She wiped her brow again, ran a hand through her hair. "Something, uh, _dangerous_, I'm sure. That's usually the drill. Steal something dangerous and powerful, and use it to, ah, _take over the world_ or, ah, something. I mean, that was a top-secret place, sorta. Full of dangerous, powerful _stuff_. "

"How about Dr. Drakken. Was he involved in this too?"

For a split second, something almost like panic crossed Shego's features. "_NO_. No, Dr. D. didn't know anything about it. I, ah, told him I was going to work. He was at home." Without warning, her temper suddenly flared. "And besides, what business is it of _yours_, anyway_? He didn't know anything about it. Nothing._ Understand?"

"_There_ you go." Ron's face was made eerie by the green light from the screen. "Out comes the plasma."

"At least she just _threatened_ them with it. For Shego, that's restraint."

"So whaddaya think she was _really_ doing there?"

"No idea. And besides, fighting supervillains is _your_ department now, not mine."

"Hey, there's an update on the story. Let's check it out."

"OK, but we gotta get moving. We're gonna be late."

He clicked the remote again; anchor Gregg Greatman's grinning face filled the screen. Kim sighed in annoyance. "Right _there's_ the reason I don't watch KXKVI News. What do people _see_ in him, anyway? Did you know he was voted Middleton's most popular anchorman? Online poll or something."

"I heard something about that, yeah. He _is_ a pretty popular guy." He'd tried to convince Wade to help him cast several votes for Greatman, but the computer whiz had refused. Like Kim, Wade didn't care for the oily newscaster.

"He reminds _me_ of that insane _temp_ Drakken hired – "

"Yesterday morning," intoned Greatman, in particularly plummy tones, "a sinister incursion into a top-secret government repository was foiled by the quick action of the woman known as Shego, a former criminal now turned superheroine; tonight, KXKVI has learned, information revealed by the captured felons has led to the apprehension of a secret terrorist organization bent on destroying America's power grid and taking over the government in the ensuing chaos."

Blurry images rolled across the screen, Global Justice herding group after group of henchmen and other captives toward what appeared to be submarines. The last one, a morose man with a goatee, was hustled right by the camera; Kim gasped in recognition.

"Ron, that was _him_! Drakken's temp! What was his name, Hank Berman, something like that – "

"_Perkins_. Hank Perkins. You're right. Looks like he's still in the bad-guy business."

"_Was_ still in the bad-guy business. Whatever he was up to, he's in prison now. For once, I'd say GJ's on the ball." She looked at the clock. "And we've gotta get on the ball, too. We need to be there _before_ they start."

Ron was clicking through YouTube channels. "Oh man, look! _Kraftwerk_!"

Kim stopped at the door, looked back. "Four old guys with laptops?"

"They were the _grandfathers_ of electronica and techno, Kim! The trendsetters, the ones who set the pattern. And then when Afrika Bambaataa sampled _Trans-Europe Express_ –"

"Tell me about it on the way to the Sloth. And grab those signs as you come, we'll need 'em. "

The surprisingly wistful strains of Kraftwerk's _Neon Lights _flowed through the room as Ron got to his feet, collected the signs, and took off behind Kim. Among the slogans were:

**_ATOMIC POWER? NO THANK YOU_**

**_CHERNOBYL AND FUKUSHIMA HAVE MADE IT CLEAR – FULL STOP TO NUCLEAR POWER_**

**_NO NUCLEAR POWER IN MIDDLETON_**

As she watched Ron bundle the signs into the car, Kim's mind was racing. Ron's ever-increasing Mystical Monkey Power was more than enough to deal with any supervillain outbreaks; _this_ had become her battle, her crusade against evil. As a teenager, she'd been known around the world as a crimefighter. Now, as a young adult, she was just as famous as an anti-nuclear activist.

Famous – or infamous. Leading the protests against the proposed reactor twenty-five miles from her hometown had led to a lot of friction with people who had once been her friends, people who needed jobs. Even her relationship with her Dad, whose motto was "no room for skepticism in science," had been strained over it.

And there had been the night the Sloth's brakes failed, and she'd narrowly avoided being hit by a train. An accident, some people claimed. Others murmured darker things.

It didn't matter.

_I'm still saving the world_, she thought, _but in a different way._ She had known that since the day she first saw the photos of the dead city called Pripyat, the once-prosperous city built to house the workers at the Chernobyl nuclear plant. The photos that brought her to uncontrollable tears, without understanding why.

Kim had no idea why this cause had such an impact on her mind and heart; as well ask Ron why he didn't like meatcakes. All she knew was the cold certainty that an apocalypse awaited if she didn't see this through.

And she _would_ see it through. Despite trouble, despite the opposition. Because anything was possible for a Possible.

The Sloth pulled out, drove away. It had begun to drizzle rain.

In his hurry, Ron had forgotten to turn the television off; the pensive melodies of _Neon Lights_ were suddenly replaced by an ominous chord. Names reverberated across a skeletal electronic rhythm:

"Chernobyl…"

"Harrisburg…"

"Sellafield…"

"Hiroshima…"

"Stop ra-di-o-ac-tivity," Kraftwerk chanted, as synthesized sounds rose in alarm and a morse-code rhythm pattered out _S.O.S_. "Chain reaction…and mutation…contaminated population…"

The message was clear, but there was no one home to hear it.


End file.
